


Girl, You Taste Like Sugar

by TotidemVerbis



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8207788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotidemVerbis/pseuds/TotidemVerbis
Summary: Danielle Montgomery has spent the past, well, she's spent a lot of time locked inside of her own body. An empath, with the ability to feel the emotions of people around her and even manipulate emotions in other people, can't feel anything of her own. Even while drowning in a sea of emotions, she's numb. 
Until he comes along. They call him The Punisher. She calls him The Savior. He calls her The Annoyance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Season 2 of Daredevil, but it does mention events throughout Season 2.
> 
> I’m not sure how long this will be or if I’ll be able to update it anytime soon, but I do want to finish this story at some point. This is just a teaser. If there’s anyone that shows any interest, I’ll work on writing for it more.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own **Daredevil/The Punisher** ; none of the characters or anything else from the universe. I do own my original characters, such as Danielle Montgomery, but I like to picture her as Ashley Benson. Hence the pretty picture above. I also do not own any of the images being used in the Story Banner or in the Chapter Titles. If they belong to you and you want them removed, let me know and I’ll take them down immediately. This is purely fanmade, for my own enjoyment and hopefully yours, so happy reading!

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap01_zps5ubahgao.png.html)

_“Don’t get all sweet on me now, Frank.”_

 _The words are said with just a hint of amusement, and Dani knows that she should leave. She’s ducked down behind some headstones, a few rows over, and she can leave the graveyard before hearing anything else. She learned a long time ago how to sneak away, be silent, but she stays. The voices are unfamiliar, but the glimpses she caught of the two men are unmistakable. Red suit and horns? That can only be The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil. The man now sitting propped up against a headstone has to be the man that people are calling The Punisher. Dani knows that she should leave, knows that this is none of her business, but she slows her breathing and strains her hearing instead._

_The two talk easily for a moment, like banter between friends, and Dani curls in tighter on herself. Feels the rough surface of the headstone she’s behind against her cheek. Then the masked vigilante asks about a rhyme, something that The Punisher says before killing, and the man who has been terrorizing Hell’s Kitchen begins to speak. His voice is low, raspy, and so full of emotion despite the quiet words. Dani’s fingers dig down past the grass and into the dirt as The Punisher, as Frank, tells his story._

_As Dani listens to a story not meant for her ears, she feels something for the first time in decades. Tears steadily drip down her chin as she_ feels _her own sense of grief for this stranger. Not pity, never pity, but her throat burns as she forces herself to remain quiet. She can feel the emotions coming from both men, but those emotions feel like mere whispers under the weight of her own. For years and years, her own emotions were numbed under the onslaught of others’. Every single thing that she has felt for the past twenty-three years has belonged to someone else. All of the anger, guilt, lust, happiness, grief…all of it belongs to the people that she can never escape. She sticks to big cities so that can she drown herself in it all; small towns hurt too much because the people become too familiar. Surrounded by thousands, there’s so much sensory overload that she can barely pick out a single person’s emotions. Yet, sometimes, it still becomes too much._

 _Fear is running rampant through her small corner of New York. Maybe that’s what she gets for moving into Hell’s Kitchen. So many bodies have been dropping, and it has everyone on edge. She needed to escape, just for an hour or two, and the graveyard outside of the city seemed like the perfect place to regroup. The dead can’t hurt her. Then_ they _showed up. She could feel them coming long before they reached her, and she doesn’t know why she didn’t leave when she first felt the crushing weight of the men’s emotions. They’re the only two around her for miles, but she still feels like she’s drowning. It’s only getting worse the longer Frank speaks. (She doesn’t care about the catchy nickname that the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen have given him, because she can feel that he’s just a man. Not a monster, like they say.)_

 _The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is crouched down as he listens to Frank talk, and the masked man is as far from a devil as a person can get. She’s felt evil before, shivered and screamed as it burrowed into her bones and turned her stomach. This man, who puts on a mask to save the city, is not evil. Everything about his emotions is conflicted. Feeling him hurts. The fear, the anger, the guilt, the loneliness…The Devil is feeling enough to bury her, but it’s nothing in comparison to_ him. 

_Frank continues to talk, about his family, and Dani continues to cry as his emotions rush through her. He is resigned. To what, Dani isn’t sure. Maybe to whatever he believes his fate is. He’s also tired. A kind of tiredness that makes it nearly impossible to keep on living. The man who has been systematically killing off the biggest criminals in Hell’s Kitchen is so tired that she’s surprised that he can still breathe. Surprised that he can handle the weight pressing down against him and dragging him down. When she hears the tears catch in his throat, listens to his voice break as he talks about his little girl keeping him on his feet, she knows she needs to leave._

_She understands The Punisher now. She understands Frank. So it’s time for her to leave now, but she can’t. She keeps listening, and she keeps feeling. Not just them, not just The Devil and The Punisher, she feels her own emotions. After twenty-three years of being numb on the inside, two decades of being forced to only feel human through the emotions of others, she feels something of her own. Emotions that belong to her and her alone. She feels anger towards the people who took away Frank’s family and broke him like this; she feels grief for the man that Frank used to be; she feels hope that The Devil can make things right._

_“I think I’m done.” Frank’s words are so quiet that she can barely hear him, and she squeezes her eyes closed. As sirens come closer and The Devil talks to the cops, Dani makes a decision. She’s going to stick with Frank. Not just because she believes that he deserves to have someone in his corner, which she strongly does believe, but because being in his presence is the first time she’s been able to feel her own emotions. She needs to know if it was a fluke or if Frank is somehow special._

_She stays hidden as the cops surround him, and she slinks her way through the city to follow after the ambulance he’s in. The whole time he’s chained to a hospital bed, she sticks to the roof and waits. Listens as his legal counsel is changed and then shakes her head when she recognizes the conflict of emotions down below. There’s something ironic about a lawyer being a vigilante. She hates it when he goes to jail, and she hates listening to people scream at him throughout the trial. What do they know? Nothing, that’s what. Absolutely nothing._

_The phrase, walk a mile in another person’s shoes, never really meant much to her when she was younger. It was just another stupid saying that her grandma liked to say when she was trying to guilt Dani into being a better person. Then the experiments happened, and she figured out what her grandma had been talking about all along. You can’t understand a person until you’ve felt what they’ve felt. There’s not a single human emotion left that she hasn’t felt, at varying degrees. Frank Castle feels things so deeply that it leaves goosebumps across her skin. It’s like nothing that she’s ever felt before, and she feels more of her own emotions whenever she’s near him. Just like she thought she would. She feels angry at the people who judge him without knowing him; she feels gratitude for the young woman, Karen, that continues to believe in him; she feels a little annoyed at Murdock for having Frank locked up and then bailing on his defense, but she knows that he has other worries as well._

_When Frank breaks out of prison, she’s afraid. So scared that her teeth grind together as her jaw locks. She was only moments away from breaking her own code when Fisk set him up to get killed, but Frank proved them all wrong. He survived, and Fisk granted him freedom. She was in town to witness Fisk’s business dealings, and she doesn’t trust him. The day will come when he’ll walk free, and he’ll want Frank dead. Because Frank is a threat. One that Fisk won’t be able to ignore. She hasn’t felt hope, true hope, in a really long time. It doesn’t stop her from hoping that Frank will leave. Leave Hell’s Kitchen and never look back. He doesn’t. That’s not who he is, and she accepts that. Accepts him._

_The house where his family once lived goes up in flames, and it’s almost like she can feel the heat from inside the truck. She can’t, of course, but she can imagine it. The way her skin would tighten against the heat, the sweat that would bead across her skin, but she’s a safe distance away. Hidden. She only looks up just enough to see Frank walking away from the flames, and he never looks back. He hasn’t moved on, she’s pretty sure he never will, and she ducks down as he gets closer to the truck. She stays buried under luggage in the backseat as the truck moves out of town, and she counts potholes and watches the squiggles behind her closed lids as the tires keep rolling._

_She’s been shadowing Frank Castle since the night he was arrested, and it’s about time to reveal herself. Being a stalker is far too much work._

“Hi!” The truck swerves at the sound of her loud yell, and she sees a flash of stars as her nose explodes in pain. It only lasts for a moment, to the count of One-Mississippi, and she flicks her tongue out to catch the blood on her top lip. While she’s still processing that she’s been punched hard enough to actually make her bleed, a hand grabs the front of her tee shirt and pulls her from the backseat into the passenger seat. 

“Who are you?” It’s not yelled. His voice is perfectly calm, but that’s probably because there is a very large gun pointing at her face. Geeze, the barrel is like the size of her eyeball.

“I probably should’ve waited until you’d stopped, huh?” The truck is pulled off on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, but she still probably should have waited. Maybe until he was out of the vehicle. Patience has never been one of her strong suits though, and she’s been so patient for so long. 

“Don’t make me ask again, princess.” She raises a brow at that but doesn’t comment. She can feel his shock, his curiosity, and a strong sense of anger directed inward.

“Why are you angry at yourself? I’m the one that technically broke into your getaway vehicle.” His eyes narrow on her, but every other inch of him is perfectly calm and still. Including the finger he still has on the trigger.

“How’d you get in?” Oh, so that’s what the self-anger is about. She managed to get past his defenses and hide in what should have been a protected area for several hours, and he’s blaming himself for not noticing her. That’s not his fault. She’s gotten really good at hiding over the years. 

“I opened the door and curled up in the back floorboard under what I’m assuming is a bag of ammo. It wasn’t very comfortable. My leg started cramping, so I thought I’d come up for air and introduce myself.” The look he shoots her is very clear, and she lightly clears hers throat. “My name is Danielle Montgomery, but I prefer Dani. Or just Dan. Totally up to you.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here.” It’s not a request. That’s a demand if she’s ever heard one. The gun is still aimed directly at her face; if he pulls the trigger, she’s pretty sure not even dental records would be enough to identify her. Not that she has any dental records, but still. The point remains. 

“Because you’re a good man, and you’d never kill someone that didn’t deserve it. I haven’t done anything to deserve a death sentence.” His cheek twitches at the word good, and she feels a brief slash of guilt. Revulsion. 

“You don’t know anything about me.” The tone is still calm and controlled, but she knows what people hide under the surface. She’s shaken him. 

“I know a lot about you. I’ve been following you, since the graveyard. I thought about breaking you out of the hospital, but you were really banged up and I am most definitely not a nurse. Then I thought about breaking you out of jail, scene be damned, but you managed to get out. I hate that it was Fisk that did it, that guy never does something without a hidden agenda, but I was happy that you were free. That you got your answers.”

The more she talks, the more his face seems to shut down. Maybe she shouldn’t have revealed so much at one time? What if she accidentally breaks him? Frank Castle may be one tough sonuvabitch, but everyone has a breaking point. She watches the way that his body tenses, and her body language mirrors his as the barrel of the gun presses against her cheek. Just under her left eye. It’s cold, so cold, but she forces herself not to react. Not to move. One wrong move, and this could all be over before it even gets started. 

“You’ve been stalking me.”

“Technically, yes. There was never any ill intent though. I just…I only…I don’t really know how to explain it.” She’s never been particularly eloquent. Now she can blame it on the onslaught of emotions that she has to deal with; she can’t thank the coffee guy when the woman behind her in line is mentally screaming. She was never all that eloquent when she was younger either though. Words move from her brain too fast and trip over her tongue, which normally leaves her stumbling and rambling her way through conversations.

“What. Do. You. Want.” Every word is forced out from between clenched teeth, and the pressure against her cheekbone increases just the smallest amount. 

“I just want to exist in the same space as you, that’s all. Give me one week. If at the end of that week you want me gone, I’ll disappear. Like a weird dream,” she says with a small twitch of her lips.

"Why?” That’s something that she has pondered many times over the past few weeks, and she only has fragments of answers. A part of her is hoping that spending more time closer to him will put all the pieces together and give her the full answer that she needs. 

“You help me, and I think I can help you too. If you’ll let me.” She’s turned sideways in the passenger seat, with her back pressed firmly against the door, and she stays still as his eyes rake over her. There’s not much to look at; she probably looks like a small child sitting next to him. 

“How can you help me?” She doesn’t like his tone, it sounds like he’s mocking her, but she’s not going to argue with him. Not when there’s a gun still pressed against her face. 

“Give me a week, and I’ll show you.” She states it like a challenge, which is apparently the right thing to do. He pulls the gun away and stows it back in his jacket, and she lets her neck pop as the tension slowly leaves her body. 

“I don’t trust you.” The truck is already back on the road, moving onto wherever their destination is, and she smiles. 

“Of course you don’t.” She’s pretty sure that if the situation was reversed, she would have kicked her ass out and spun out of there. Frank in intrigued just enough to keep her around, because he doesn’t really view her as a threat. If that changes, she’ll be able to feel it. 

“And put your seatbelt on.” Her quiet laugh seems out of place in the tense atmosphere, and the click of her seatbelt sounds as loud as a gunshot. It’s going to be a fun week.

**DAY 1**

The sun is breaking over the trees when Frank pulls up in front of the cabin, and he looks over at his passenger. It’s been hours, and she’s been asleep the whole time. It’s possible she’s been faking it, but he doesn’t think so. Every now and then, a limb would twitch or she’d murmur some nonsense. She shouldn’t even be here. He should have tossed her out on the side of the road, but she knows so much about him. She even knows about Fisk, which is something that he’s kept to himself. She’d gotten into his truck and stayed hidden for hours, without him ever once detecting her presence. He doesn’t feel threatened by her, but he’s not going to make the mistake of underestimating her. Even if she does look like a runaway teen.

Her denim cutoff shorts have a small rainbow on the left leg, complete with glitter. Her thin white tee shirt is covered in small gray skulls, and he can tell that she’s nearly too thin under the fabric. She’s small, short and thin, and she looks like she’d break if she tried to swat away a fly. Her blonde hair is nearly white, almost the same washed out color as her skin, and brushes by her chin in thick frazzled waves. Like she’s constantly running her fingers through it and pulling on it. She looks harmless, but she hasn’t fooled him. The entire time he had a gun pressed to her face, her eyes stayed locked on his. Pale blue, wide and blank, never wavered. She never once looked afraid. 

He stretches a hand out towards her, to grab her shoulder and shake her awake, but she jerks away before he can make contact. This time when those pale eyes meet his, there’s a small amount of fear in them. He can tell by the widening of her pupils, at the way her breath stutters in her chest. She didn’t even blink while looking down the barrel of a gun, but she’s scared to be touched? She’s a curious little thing. His curiosity might get him killed, but he’s willing to risk it. For now. 

“Rule number one, don’t touch me.” There is an edge of steel to her words, and she’s nearly pressed flat against the door. As far away from him as she can get, like she’s afraid of him. Finally, a normal response. 

“Rule number two, no lies.” She crosses her arms under small chest and tips her chin up.

“I think I can agree to that. So, where are we?” The leather of the seat creaks as she scoots forward to look out of the windshield, and the sunlight highlights the dark circles under her eyes. 

“A cabin in the woods.” With that answered, he opens the door and climbs out. He can hear her clambering around, and they lock eyes across the expanse of the backseat after she opens the back passenger door.

“You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, did you? Because I warn you, I don’t die easily.” She says it all with a smile as she grabs two black bags that he doesn’t remember packing, and he feels a muscle in his jaw tick as he realizes that they’re hers.

“It’s a place to lay low for a while, off the grid. No one knows about it.” The rest of the bags are his to grab, and he listens to her hum as they walk up the few steps onto the front porch. He pulls out a key to unlock the front door, and the thick scent of dust fills his nose as soon as he walks inside. 

“Lovely. When was the last time someone actually stepped foot in this place?” When he looks over his shoulder, her bags are at her feet and she’s tracing a line through the dust clinging to a small table next to the covered couch. 

“Feel free to leave if it’s not up to your standards, princess.” He uses a boot to open the bedroom door, and he’s only a little surprised when she follows him inside. 

“Nah, it’s alright. I lived in a cave once. If I can survive that, this should be a piece of cake.” Maybe she really is a runaway. Is there someone out there looking for her? A family that’s searching for her? “You’re worried, about me. Why?”

“Does your family know where you are?” There must have been a look on his face, something that she was able to notice and pick up on. He needs to be more careful around her. 

“No family. It’s just me,” she shrugs. She looks too young to be on her own, and he tells her as much. “I’m older than I look, and I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. Don’t worry about me, Castle.”

“How have I helped you?” She meets his eyes and then immediately looks down, and they both watch the way that her dirty white sneakers disturb the dust on the floor. 

“Let’s save that conversation for after we’ve settled in, huh? I’ll go make sure there’s still a couch under all that plastic and dust.” She disappears from the room like it’s on fire, and he hears shuffling coming from the living room a moment later. He’ll play it her way, for now, but he’ll have his answers before the day is over.

**.xXx.**

“Who knew beans could be so tasty?” Dark eyes narrow over at her, and she lets out a small sigh as she slumps back against the couch. The couch that still smells like it’s inhabited by a family of dust bunnies. Frank’s in a recliner across from her, and he’s done waiting if she’s reading the look on his face right. She can also feel his impatience, frustration, annoyance, and curiosity. It’s marking her kind of itchy.

“How have I helped you?” he asks again. Even though she can clearly feel his every emotion, she can feel her own too. She’s nervous, afraid of rejection, and uneasy. That’s what makes this all worth it. 

“Not helped, that’s past tense. You help me. Present tense. You’re helping me right now.” Her insides feel shaky; how long has it been since she felt her own nervous energy tickling at the edges of her senses? “I know that doesn’t explain much. To really explain, I’m gonna have to tell you a story. A really crazy story, so try to keep an open mind, okay?”

“How crazy?” She doesn’t know where to begin, or how, so she might as well start at the beginning. 

“I was born on the twenty-fourth of March, in nineteen sixty-six.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re fifty years old?” Yeah, it sounds crazy, but she gave him a fair warning. 

“Open mind, remember?” He nods, and she watches the way that her fingers bend over her knees as she continues on. “My dad wasn’t ready to be a father at sixteen, so he skipped town. My mom, who was also sixteen, died during childbirth. My maternal grandparents raised me, and they did the best they could. They’d had my mother late in life, and they weren’t prepared to start the process all over again. I graduated high school in eighty-four, and I thought about going to college. Being a progressive woman and all that, but I was broke. We were broke. I saw this ad for a medical trial and decided to give it a try.”

“And?” She’s never told this story, because she’s never had a reason to. For years, she has stayed hidden. What if she breaks down halfway through?

“The interview was very extensive. I thought they were just really random questions at the time, but they made sense later on. They were looking for people that no one would miss. The few friends I had moved off after high school, and my grandparents were very old. I was young, healthy, and completely unattached. There are also some anomalies in my family tree, but I didn’t learn about that until later. They told me that I was a perfect candidate, and I signed up without reading the fine print. I thought it was a government trial, but it turned out it was a private company. They were experimenting on people with enhanced ancestry.”

“You’re an enhanced.” People with gifts, with powers, aren’t a secret anymore. Especially not after the Battle of Manhattan. 

“I wasn’t born enhanced, but the genes were there. Hidden. Locked away. The doctors were able to trigger them, so to speak, but they didn’t stop there. They kept pushing to see what else could be done. To see what a single person could be capable of. Think of it as the super soldier serum. I’m no Captain America, but I’m strong. I’m fast. Durable. My healing is above average. If you had shot me last night, I’d be just fine.”

“Also explains why your nose isn’t broken.” He’s not surprised, because he’s already guessed that she’s something a little more than average. Time for the kicker though. 

“My senses were enhanced, but that’s not the worst thing they did. I could handle that kind of torture.” His confused look makes her pause, and she decides to be completely honest. “They had to test me. Test my limits. How much stronger was I? I beat my fists against metal and concrete, just to see if I could break through. I ran until my body literally gave out and couldn’t move anymore, to see how long I could last. My healing was tested more than anything else, to see just how much I could recover from. Nine years of constantly being tested, but that’s not what broke me.”

“What did?” He’s not batting an eye, because Frank Castle knows about torture. 

“Like I said, they kept pushing me. I don’t know what they were trying for, but they wanted some kind of mental gift. Something beyond the physical. Instead of something useful, like telekinesis, I got stuck with empathy. You think it’d be helpful, right? To always know what the other people in the room are feeling? After a while, I even learned to project, to manipulate.”

“Not seeing the downside here, princess.” Her eyes narrow just a little bit at the title, but she rolls her shoulders and does her best to explain. 

“Sometimes I can shut it out and not feel anyone, but it takes a lot of focus. It wasn’t until I escaped the facility that I realized just how bad it was. I went numb and started drowning in everyone else. When I felt anger, it was because the guy on the bus next to me was arguing with his girlfriend. When I cried, it was because I passed someone on the street with a smile that was dying inside. Nothing I felt was my own. I tried going to the most remote places, but I just felt nothing there. I decided that drowning was better than the numbness, so I returned to society.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” She can’t tell if he believes her or not, but that’s okay. She can prove it, and she will. Once the story is over. 

“I was there in the graveyard that night, when you told your story to the Devil. I cried, and I realized that it was me that was sad. I could still feel you and the Devil, but my own emotions were stronger. I thought it might be a fluke, so I followed you. It kept happening, but only when I could sense you. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you make me _feel_. That’s something that I thought would never happen again, and I have you to thank for it.”

“You really expect me to believe all that bull—” Before he can finish, she focuses on what she can already feel of him. The annoyance and confusion, the strong disbelief, and then thinks of happiness. Pure happiness. The way that it lights a person up inside, the warm feeling that spreads across the skin, and listens as Frank Castle laughs. When she opens her eyes, his head is thrown back and he has one hand braced against his stomach. She cuts the feeling off abruptly and watches with wary eyes as he slumps back against the chair. 

“Believe me now?” Happiness is something that Frank hasn’t felt in a very long time, so they both know that his laughing fit came from her. “Or would you like an encore? Wanna make a suggestion?”

“You had no right!” Fury…so much fury that she can taste ashes in the back of her throat. 

“No, I didn’t. No right whatsoever, and I will never manipulate your emotions again unless you ask.” She hates the manipulation more than feeling forced emotions. Having to feel every emotion of the people around her is one thing, but having the power to twist the emotions of others? It’s wrong, and she can’t always control it. 

“I would never ask.” He sounds so sure, but she’s not.

“I can take away the pain, or anger. I can keep you calm in dangerous situations. All you have to do is ask.” She might hate the manipulation, but she owes him. She was starting to forget what it was like to even be human until him. 

“Because I make you feel?”

“Ridiculous, I know. There are so many people out there that would love to be numb. To let go of the anger, the pain, the hate…but I lost all of the other emotions as well. No happiness, satisfaction, contentment. Nothing. I was so empty.” Maybe it’s the tone of her voice, but something digs at him. Lessens the fury at the _show_ part of her show-and-tell. He doesn’t pity her, that’s not what he’s feeling. He feels…sad, for her. “You felt it too, didn’t you? The emptiness?”

“In the park, when I realized they were gone.” He doesn’t have to explain, because she knows. She followed him and others, until she had the whole story. 

“Imagine that moment lasting for years, all while drowning in things that you’ll never feel again. I could see it, taste it, hear it, feel it skittering across my skin…with nothing left deep down.”

“Why me?” He’s feeling resigned again. He’s not going to turn her away, not yet at least, because he believes her.

“I honestly don’t know. It just…happened,” she says and shrugs. She can’t explain it; she can barely explain how her abilities work, so she can’t explain this anomaly. 

“I’m not finished.” She blinks, three times, as the words sink in. He may have gotten his answers, but there’s still much left to do. He’s found a purpose in this new life of his, and he’s not going to change.

“As part of the experiments, they pitted us against each other. They didn’t want the weak ones; they wanted the strongest. Had these collars that were literally bolted into us. If we didn’t do what they wanted, well, let’s just say I’ve never felt pain like that before or since. Sometimes I wish that I had just let them kill me, but I wanted to survive. I wanted to be free. In nine years, I killed fifty-eight people. Once I was free, I made a promise to myself. To never take another life. They created me to be a weapon, but that’s not who I am. Do you understand? I am not a weapon.”

“I understand. Do you understand who I am?” Everyone has conflicting emotions, ups and downs, and Frank’s no different. When he kills, there’s no confliction. His surety when he pulls the trigger is almost serene. 

“I understand. So, rule number three, we accept each other as we are and promise not to try to change each other.” He leans forward in his chair, braces his elbows on his knees, and she copies him. Their eyes lock, and she wonders what Frank would look like without the bruises on his face. 

“We are who we are,” he agrees. She nods her head and smiles as she leans back, but Frank stays in the same position. “One last question.”

“Hit me.”

“Why don’t you like to be touched?” She bristles a little at the question and taps her fingers against her bare thighs. 

“It, uh, it hurts when people touch me. The emotions become sharper, like it’s almost too much for me to handle. I’m one of those annoying people who throws money on the counter instead of just handing it over.” She says it with a dry laugh, but she hates it. Hates how cut off she’s been all these years. 

“How’d you fight if just touching hurts you?” It’s a curious question, one that she doesn’t have to answer because of the painful memories, but she wants this to work.

“Most of the fights were before the empathy. It came towards the end, my last year there. By then, I was fighting less. I’d already proved myself.” She feels her chest tighten and crosses her arms over her stomach as she bends forward. Pain and guilt. Grief. She watches as droplets splash against the pale color of her legs and hears her own rough laugh. “It’s been so long since I grieved for them. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to again.”

“You’re laughing because you’re sad?” He’s definitely judging her, but she doesn’t care. She can feel again, and her guess was right. She feels more strongly when she’s close to him. 

“Humans are so complex; they never feel just one thing at a time. There’s always so much going on inside of them, sometimes at completely different ends of the spectrum. Happiness and grief. Thank you," she whispers and lets her eyes fall closed. 

“You’re welcome.” She listens to the sounds of him standing, the creak of the floorboards and slight rocking of the recliner, and she has to force her eyes to open again. Tears are still gathered in her eyes, and a few more spill over when she blinks. Fifty-eight lives were taken by her hands; they deserve an ocean of her tears. 

“Going somewhere?”

“To bed. We’ve got a field trip in the morning. Spare blankets and pillows are in the hall closet.” She listens as his footsteps fade away and then as the bedroom door closes, and she wipes at her cheeks before standing up. She grabs some sheets to lay under her, a thick quilt to go over her, and a thin pillow that she is definitely going to have to fold in half. 

She settles onto the couch easily, being small has its perks, and closes her eyes against the dark room. There’s a good chance that Frank will drop her off somewhere tomorrow, and she’ll respect his decision. If he wants her gone, she’ll stay gone. He’s given her a gift, doesn’t matter that it’s unintentional, and it’d be selfish of her to force her presence on him if he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want her. 

_“I really hope he lets me stay,”_ is her last thought before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very first part of this chapter, the italicized part, takes bits and pieces from Season 2 of Daredevil. I love Frank Castle’s character in the show, and I wanted to write something for him. Now let’s just see if I can keep it going, hmm?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** There is some graphic violence in this chapter/gun usage. I feel like this should be a blanket warning though, because there will be violence throughout. It’s a _Punisher_ story. It wouldn’t feel right without violence, right?

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap02_zpsbegl6fig.jpg.html)

**DAY 2**

He almost doesn’t see her when he walks into the living room. She’s curled up at the far end of the couch, curled up into a ball so tight that her whole body only takes up one cushion. He can just make out a few wisps of her white blonde hair sticking out from under the old quilt that’d been in the closet; if anyone else had walked in, they probably would have assumed that the quilt was just balled up on the end. Since she’s so covered, he doesn’t have to worry about touching her. Her shoulder feels too thin, too sharp, against his palm as he lightly shakes her.

“’m up,” she mumbles and then wiggles to get him to move his hand. He straightens up and braces his hands against the back of the couch, and he watches as she slowly stretches herself out. Her feet don’t even reach the other end of the couch, and he listens to the way her joints pop as she sighs.

“Go get a shower. I got breakfast.” She rubs her eyes with her fists before opening them, and she smiles when her eyes meet his. 

“Eggs and bacon? And coffee? Please tell me there’s coffee.” The quilt slips off her slim frame as she sits up, and she reaches up to ruffle her already wild hair. 

“There’s coffee. Shower, now. We’re on a schedule.” She nods at him, two quick jerks of her head, and then untangles her legs. She shuffles, barely even lifting her feet, over to her bags. It looks like she pulls out clothes without ever even opening her eyes, and her feet shuffle against the bare wooden floor. He waits until she’s in the bathroom before moving into the kitchen, and he thinks about their conversation the night before as he starts cooking. 

He’s heard about the enhanced, there’s not many people left who haven’t heard about them, but he’s never met one. Never seen what they’re capable of. He doesn’t know how strong she is, how much she can endure, or how much she can heal. That remains to be seen. What he does know is that she wasn’t lying about the emotion thing. Sure, he doubted it at first. Doubted it even though he could hear the pain in her voice. Doubted it until pure happiness filled him up in a way that he thought he’d never feel again. He knows the emotion wasn’t his own. When she pulled it away, he felt cold inside. Because that’s who he is now. All of his warmth is gone, and he hates her a little for making him realize that. He might be able to feel the fire that comes from rage, from anger and hate, but that’s different. 

Her offer is…tempting, there’s no point in lying about it. To be able to live without the pain, the grief, the anger…it’s tempting. It’s also all he has now. He’s not going to ask for something fake, for something that belongs to someone else. His emotions are his own. She might be able to feel them, but they’re still his. Could be useful in a fight though. Can she block physical sensations? It’s something that he’ll have to ask her. Even in the midst of her happiness and pain, he’d been able to hear her gratitude. She believes that she owes him, and maybe she does. That’s not his call. 

“Someone’s thinking mighty hard for six o’clock in the morning.” He glances over his shoulder, and the first thing he notices is that she’s completely covered up. Tight dark green jeans and a baggy gray sweatshirt with a black skull at its center leaves barely any skin showing. The sweatshirt hangs down past her fingertips, and she’s wearing a pair of bright yellow socks. The only skin he can see is her face, which is mostly covered by her wet hair. 

“Just thinking about last night.” She plops into a chair at the kitchen table and rests her chin on her fist.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. It went a lot smoother than I imagined though.” He catches a flash of her smile as he turns back around, and he starts dividing the food up between two plates. 

“You’ve never told anyone else.” He places the plates on the table and then turns back towards the coffeepot. 

“Nope, just you. I never had a reason to tell anyone, before. You might want to bring the sugar over here, I take a lot in my coffee.” He pours them both a travel mug full of coffee and sits hers down next to her plate. Then he brings over the sugar bowl and takes the seat across from her.

“I want to ask a few more questions.” He loses count of how many scoops of sugar go into her cup, but he’s sure that it’s an unhealthy amount. It looks like she only takes a little bit of coffee with her sugar. 

“Ask me anything.” She nearly inhales her first few bites of scrambled eggs, so it takes him a moment to remember what his question is. Has she been starving herself? “Starving? No, but I have a pretty high metabolism. Sometimes I forget to eat though.”

“Can you block physical sensations?” He must have asked his last question out loud; he really does need to be more careful around her. 

"Like hunger? I don’t think so, but I think I can overload emotional senses enough that it’s not noticeable.”

“What about pain?” She must have caught on, because she sits her fork down and meets his eyes. 

“I could probably raise your anger, get your adrenaline pumping more than it should, and then balance it with an overwhelming sense of calm. That way you’d still be able to think clearly. Or, well, there’s another option.” She gulps down her coffee after that, which means that he has to drag the other option out of her. 

“What’s this other option?” She taps her fingers against the table and speaks without looking at him. 

“I’ve only ever done it accidentally, but I might be able to do it again if I actually focused. A few times, I was able to absorb another person’s emotions. Completely. They could still think and function, but they felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. I did instead. I was able to take all of their sensations, emotional and physical.”

“That’s not an option then.” He turns back to his food, but he can feel her eyes on him. Questioning. Curious. “It would hurt you. It wouldn’t stop any pain, just transfer it.”

“I can handle a little pain, and it won’t be permanent. The pain will be all yours as soon as I stop, and you’ll be the one with all the wounds. I’d just be holding the physical pain for a little bit.”

“Not an option.”

“I’ll wait for you to ask then.”

“I won’t ask.” Her smile is quick and sharp, and he watches the way her jaw works as she takes in another forkful of eggs. She’s not going to keep arguing with him, but he can tell that she disagrees. Well, she’s wrong. Taking away his pain is one thing. Completely taking him over and feeling his every sensation? That’s a whole other universe. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Her plate is clean, and he grabs her cup to get them both a refill. He talks with his back to her, but the back of his neck feels tight. Her eyes haven’t left him.

“Following up on a lead.” He hears her hum, a loud noise in the quiet morning air, and then he hears the sound of nails tapping against wood. 

“Recon or…” When she trails off, he looks over his shoulder. Her tongue sticks out of the side of her mouth as she tilts her head and drags her index finger across her throat, and he narrows his eyes at her accompanying sound effects. 

“Won’t know until we get there. Got a problem with that, princess?” She huffs, loudly and pointedly, as he turns back to his task. He knows the nickname bothers her. He can see it in the way that the skin around her eyes go tight and by the slight twitch in her cheek. He doesn’t know why it bothers her, and he doesn’t care to find out. 

“I agreed to rule number three. You do you, and I’ll do me. Wait, that sounded wrong. Hey! Don’t just walk out on me!” He’s still got a few things that he needs to get together before they head out, and he’s not sure if he can stomach watching her ruin another good cup of coffee.

“Gear up! We’re leavin’ in five!” He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her witty response.

**.xXx.**

Dani’s always liked riding shotgun; driving takes too much attention, and she likes being able to look at the scenery around her. After being in the city for so long, seeing this many trees is almost like being on an exotic vacation. When she was little, going for car rides seemed magical. After the experiments, being in any kind of container with another human being was just torture. Frank’s proving to be the exception though, which barely even surprises her at this point. It’s why she followed him to start with; it’s why she’s still with him. Frank is, well, he’s calm. She’d say serene, but there’s something bubbling deep under the surface. So, calm. There’s a very good chance that he’s going to take another life today, but there’s no nervous energy or guilt or anything else you’d expect someone to have while premeditating murder. That should probably worry her, but she knew what she was getting into before she ever hid herself in the back floorboard of his truck.

“How’d you get this lead?” He shifts a bit in his seat, but she knows it’s not because her question makes him uncomfortable. Physically, he needs to shift some weight off his right side so that his left side is now leaning against the door. He’s driving with his right hand. 

“I know people.” Gruff and simple, that’s the Frank Castle way. It doesn’t help with road trip talk. 

“When we get there, do I stay with you or out of sight? Because I can be stealthy.” His eyes cut over at her, and she just beams a smile back at him. What? She can totally be stealthy. She’s small and non-threatening in appearance, so most people barely even give her a second glance. 

“Stay out of sight.” It’s not even a question; Frank just gave her a straight-up order. It should bristle or annoy her; she’s always gone on the offensive when being ordered around, but she feels…nothing, really. She’s in his world now, so it makes sense for her to play by his rules. 

“Is it gonna be the same for all future business meetings?” When she told him that she wasn’t going to kill anyone, she meant it. She’s done her share of killing, and she never wants to take another life. Since that’s pretty much all Frank wants to do, most of his business meetings are probably going to end bloody. 

“Yes.” Maybe Frank’s not a morning person and that’s why she’s only getting short answers.

“What if someone tries to kill you? Do you want me to stay back and watch you die?” His eyes meet hers, and she holds his dark stare. He’s not angry or glaring, just assessing, before turning to look back at the road. 

“Yes.” He says it without looking away from the road, and she feels her jaw clench. Outside the window, the trees start to thin as they move back into the city. Soon, too soon for her liking, cement and glass are all she can see. Neither of them has said a word for the past hour; Frank’s just the quiet type, and she’s resisting the urge to yell at him. 

When they reach an underground parking lot, Frank parks the truck and turns to face her. She bites the inside of her cheek as he tells her to wait in the truck, and she rolls her eyes as he walks off. The man is only wearing a hat to lightly shadow his face, like that’s going to be enough to hide who he is. He’s clearly delusional, for the hat and for thinking that she’ll just wait for him to come back. She agreed to stay out of sight, that’s all. Once he’s gone and out of her sight, she quietly slips out of the passenger seat and follows after him. She’s so tuned into his emotions that she can still feel him, and she keeps her steps light as she hurries to catch up to him. 

By the time she finds him, two levels up, he’s already talking to some guy. A very shady looking guy too. She kneels down behind a gray car to listen, and her knees complain just the smallest amount as skin and bone grind down against the asphalt. They’re too far away for her to hear their exact words, but she can feel them both. Frank feels mostly calm, but there’s an underlying current of something else. Revulsion? Something bitter, that’s for sure. The man standing next to him is feeling a mixture of fear and hate, and the two emotions keep warring for control. She can’t tell if either emotion is for Frank, but she’s willing to bet that they’re both aimed at him. 

Just when she’s getting ready to move into a different position, Frank shifts his stance. One moment they’re standing side-by-side, and the man is lying on the ground in the next moment. She saw all of the events leading up to the man lying motionless on the pavement, but her brain is still playing catch-up. Frank slips the gun back into his jacket, hidden and undetected once again, and he walks past her without ever slowing down. 

“Told you to wait in the truck.” Huh. Maybe she’s not as stealthy as she thought, or maybe Frank really is just that good. She uses her hands to push herself up, and she scrambles to catch up with his long strides. 

“Did you have to kill him?” He doesn’t even look over at her after she catches up; he just keeps walking at a steady pace. 

“How am I supposed to answer that?”

“Honestly. I’m trying to learn your moral code.” His laugh is quiet and a little startled, and she wants to smile at the sound. Wants to but doesn’t, because she knows that he’s not feeling anything even close to amusement. Underneath the calm, there’s something dark. It’s not guilt or shame, but it’s something close.

“He told me what I needed, about his old bosses. He’s killed for them, among other things.” So Frank does have a moral code. It’s a little more skewed than most peoples’, but he still has his own code. That’s good. 

“Okay.” She’s sure that most people would probably try to talk him out of this, possibly remind him that most people don’t go around shooting other people just because they think they deserve it, but…well, it’s like she said before. She knew what she was getting into, and she hasn’t changed her mind. They’re quiet as they get back to into the truck and drive off, and Dani taps her fingers against her knees as they start moving back out of the city. 

“You followed me.” She almost jumps at the rough sound of Frank’s voice, but she manages to hold still. 

“Yep.”

“I told you not to.”

“Yep.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“No promises.” This time she does jump when his fist knocks against the steering wheel, and her whole body tenses as she turns to look at him. His other hand is still holding onto the steering wheel with white knuckles, and he’s just as tense as she is. 

“This ain’t gonna work if you can’t follow a simple order.” She crosses her arms and raises her chin, in a universally known stubborn pose, and trains her eyes on the side of Frank’s face.

“First, I don’t follow orders. Second, I am an adult and capable of making my own decisions. Third, I’m not going to let you go off and get yourself killed. Not if I can stop it. I’m not going to kill anyone for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let you get killed. Unless you want to die.” She pauses there and waits, but Frank doesn’t say anything. “Is that it? Do you want to die? Are you doing all of this because it’s the quickest way to get yourself killed? Remember, we promised no lies. Rule number two.”

“I ain’t suicidal.”

“That’s not a real answer.” His eyes flick over at her, and she watches the way that the muscle in his jaw ticks before he answers her.

“I don’t need anyone getting hurt for me.” Wait, so this is some kind of chauvinistic crap?

“A few bullets won’t hurt me,” she says and grins. She can only see one side of his face, but he’s definitely rolling his eyes at her. “You doubtin’ me, Castle?”

“You’re not going to take a bullet for me.” If she was normal, she might be touched by the statement. She’s not normal though, and Frank _knows_ that. At least, she thinks he does. Maybe he doesn’t really understand how the whole thing works. She can try explaining again, but she’s got a feeling that a show-and-tell will work better. It worked with the empath thing anyway. 

“We’ll see about that,” she grumbles under her breath and starts rolling the window down. Once it’s completely down, she dives across the seat. Frank locks up as she barrels into his side, and the man honest-to-God growls at her as she starts pawing under his jacket. 

“Get the hell offa me!” Aha! She grabs the gun that he’d tucked under his jacket earlier, in a shoulder holster apparently, and slides back to her side of the truck. She uses her legs to push off from the seat and smiles once her upper body is hanging out of the window. There’s no other vehicles around, she checked for that while she was rolling the window down, and the wind feels amazing. “Get back in the truck! What are you doin’?!”

“Makin’ a believer outta you!” she yells back and raises the gun. She lifts the slim end of the silencer and presses it against the side of her head, and she waits for Frank to meet her eyes before winking and pulling the trigger. The pain that shoots through her head is explosive and full of heat, and she just barely hears the squeal of the tires over the sound of her skull and brain tearing apart. Hands grip her knees and then her thighs, and she yelps as she’s yanked back through the window. 

“Are you insane?!” Those hands are on her shoulders now and giving her a good shake, and she reaches up to grab Frank’s arms. (In a distant part of her mind, she’s thankful that he’s wearing a jacket so that she’s not touching his skin.) He gives her upper body another shake, and she tightens her hold as she groans. Shaking is not good right now. She’s got the mother of all headaches. 

“Possibly, but you’re missing the big picture. I’m alive, after taking a bullet to the brain. Can you do that?” Frank’s eyes are dark and wide as he stares at her, and she realizes just how close they are. She’s sitting sideways on the seat with her back against the door, and her legs are pulled up against her chest. Frank’s torso is pressing against her legs, and he’s still holding onto her shoulders. 

“I’ve never shot myself in the head.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes, and Frank chooses that time to pull the gun out of her hand. He stows it back under his jacket and moves back to the driver’s side, but he’s still turned sideways and looking at her. 

“I’m in serious need of a hair washing, but I’m perfectly okay. Well, I have a headache, but it’ll be gone in about ten minutes.”

“A headache.” The sound he makes is somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, and she rolls her shoulders as she sits up. What she just did wasn’t the most pleasant thing ever, but she can see the gears turning in Frank’s head now. He listened to her story, probably tried to make sense of it, but he didn’t really _know_. Well, now he does. 

“It’s going to take a lot more than a few bullets to put me down. I won’t help you kill anyone, but I can help keep you alive. Unless you really do have a death wish.” His eyes are dark and still seem to burn as he looks at her, but she doesn’t look away. She can’t show any kind of weakness around him, or he’ll start to doubt her. 

“Still don’t like it,” he says after a few beats of silence. She shrugs and feels the way that the tacky pieces of hair cling to her cheek. She can really use another shower. 

“Never said you had to.” His lips thin as his jaw clenches, but he dips his chin just the tiniest bit. Looks like they have an understanding after all. Frank turns back around and puts the truck in drive, and Dani is careful not to let the bloody mess of her hair touch the seat. Bloodstains are never easy to clean, and she’s not in the mood to start scrubbing.

Frank doesn’t say anything for several hours, not until the city is far behind them. Trees are once again a blur outside of the window before he lightly clears his throat, and Dani rubs at her eyes before looking over at him. He’s still looking straight ahead, at the barren road, and she can’t get a good read on him. Even people who believe that they’re numb are usually drowning in some kind of emotion, like anger or agony. Frank just feels…like Frank. Empty. His emotions are so far down right now that she’d need a shovel to reach them, and she doesn’t feel like fighting to find out his emotional state. She doesn’t really need to. All she’s doing is sitting beside him, and she can feel her own emotions clearly. Can feel the light burn of anger that comes from someone thinking that she’s not strong enough, not _good_ enough. Can feel the tingle of warmth in her chest at someone not wanting her to be hurt, because it’s been a while since anyone cared about whether or not she’s in pain. 

“I don’t want to die.” His words are quiet, but there’s no other sounds in the truck to drown out the rough cadence of his voice. Dani turns to look at him, just a small movement of her neck, but he’s not looking at her. That’s probably for the best, since he’s driving. 

“Then what do you want?” Something fills him up then, something dark and angry, and she bites her bottom lip against the spike of emotion. It quickly ebbs away, almost as soon as it spikes, but she already has her answer. 

“I want to get rid of them. The cops, Red, the others like him…they’re a temporary solution. My way is more permanent.” He’s not exactly wrong, but that doesn’t make him right either. 

“You ever hear that saying about how if one person kills a murderer then the number of killers in the world stays the same?” He doesn’t move. No tensing, no shifting…nothing. 

“What if one person kills a lot of murderers? What’s the score then?” Damn. He’s got her there. She crosses her arms and bends forward a little, to keep her blood matted hair away from the seat, and blows a breath out through her nose. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

**.xXx.**

He can hear the sound of the weak shower going, a static sound in the background, as he lowers himself into the chair in the living room. It doesn’t matter that she showered this morning; she’s gotta take another one because she kept saying that the blood made her itchy. Now there’s an image he can’t seem to shake. Her hair blowing all over the place as half her body hung out the window, the big grin on her face that showed a line of white teeth, and the spray of blood and other things after she pulled the trigger. He knew she was dead as soon as he slammed on the brakes, but she wasn’t. (She isn’t dead.) Her eyes had been a little bloodshot and her face had been a little paler than usual, but she’d been alive. (She’s alive and breathing right now.)

 _“I’m alive, after taking a bullet to the brain. Can you do that?”_ They’d been sitting so close that all he’d been able to see was the pale color of her eyes, and he’d watched as the broken blood vessels in her eyes just vanished. The blood remained, but the hole was gone. He’s heard about the enhanced, knows that they can do things above and beyond his imagination, but he never expected to see that. 

“You’re thinking too hard, Castle.” She’s wearing the same clothes as earlier. Green jeans and baggy gray sweatshirt. For a moment, in the truck, he’d seen a different gunshot wound. A small broken face. Why couldn’t his little girl heal like the woman standing in front of him?

“Can you die?” The question seems to catch her off guard, because her big eyes widen even further as she slowly raises her arms to wrap them around herself. 

“Everyone can die, even me. I’m just not sure what it would take. I only know what won’t kill me. Have you decided that I deserve to die?” She’s too small. Short and thin, small delicate features…she pulled the trigger without hesitation. She admitted to killing people, but she didn’t have a choice. She’s not a killer. Not like he is. 

“No. What do you want from me, princess? What’s the point of all this?” She’s gotten what she wants. She’s been around him long enough to be able to feel her own emotions, and that should be good enough for her. 

“You’ve given me something that I’ve been missing for a very long time, and I owe you for that. I want to stay by your side, for as long as you’ll let me. I made that clear yesterday. At least, I thought I did.” Her hands are propped on her hips now, and she bends down just the smallest bit to meet his eyes.

“My side is about to get very messy. You sure you’re up for that?” If everything that she’s said is true, and he’s starting to think it is, then she should be running in the opposite direction. She’s already lived through hell, so why follow him into another one? 

“I’ll let you know at the end of the week.” Her smile puts some color in her cheeks, but she’s still too pale.

“Make sure your stuff is packed tonight. We’re leaving at first light.” The chair creaks as he stands up, and she has to tip her head back to look up at him.

“Where to, boss?” He raises a brow at the title, but she just grins up at him. 

“Florida.” One slim eyebrow rises, and she shrugs when he doesn’t say anything else. Her head bobs a little before she turns on her toes and moves over to where her bag is, and he walks over to the kitchen to make them something simple for dinner. He’ll pack his things afterwards, because they’ve got a long drive ahead of them tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a little bit shorter than the first one, but I’m still getting into the groove of things. I’ve also decided on a clear plot. I’ll be mixing plot lines from the comics and from the 2004 Punisher movie. (The one with Thomas Jane, not Ray Stevenson, because the Thomas Jane one was a beautiful cinematic masterpiece.) If you don’t know anything about the comics or the movies I’m talking about, don’t worry about it. I’ll be changing up enough and explaining enough that it should all make sense. If you’re ever confused, please don’t hesitate to ask me anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a very long time since I updated, and I’m sorry about that. I recently watched _Luke Cage_ and _Iron Fist_ , and I had the urge to rewatch my favorite _Daredevil_ episodes. Which, if my I’m being honest, is mostly just the Frank Castle centric episodes. After that, I decided to clean this story up a bit. The first two chapters have been rewritten, but nothing big has been changed. It just flows a little better now. Feel free to read the first two chapters again if you want to, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. The ending of Chapter Two was changed a little bit though, so I’m going to repost the ending and then Chapter Three will start after it.

**Chapter Two**

**Ending Recap**

He can hear the sound of the weak shower going, a static sound in the background, as he lowers himself into the chair in the living room. It doesn’t matter that she showered this morning; she’s gotta take another one because she kept saying that the blood made her itchy. Now there’s an image he can’t seem to shake. Her hair blowing all over the place as half her body hung out the window, the big grin on her face that showed a line of white teeth, and the spray of blood and other things after she pulled the trigger. He knew she was dead as soon as he slammed on the brakes, but she wasn’t. (She isn’t dead.) Her eyes had been a little bloodshot and her face had been a little paler than usual, but she’d been alive. (She’s alive and breathing right now.)

 _“I’m alive, after taking a bullet to the brain. Can you do that?”_ They’d been sitting so close that all he’d been able to see was the pale color of her eyes, and he’d watched as the broken blood vessels in her eyes just vanished. The blood remained, but the hole was gone. He’s heard about the enhanced, knows that they can do things above and beyond his imagination, but he never expected to see that. 

“You’re thinking too hard, Castle.” She’s wearing the same clothes as earlier. Green jeans and baggy gray sweatshirt. For a moment, in the truck, he’d seen a different gunshot wound. A small broken face. Why couldn’t his little girl heal like the woman standing in front of him?

“Can you die?” The question seems to catch her off guard, because her big eyes widen even further as she slowly raises her arms to wrap them around herself. 

“Everyone can die, even me. I’m just not sure what it would take. I only know what won’t kill me. Have you decided that I deserve to die?” She’s too small. Short and thin, small delicate features…she pulled the trigger without hesitation. She admitted to killing people, but she didn’t have a choice. She’s not a killer. Not like he is. 

“No. What do you want from me, princess? What’s the point of all this?” She’s gotten what she wants. She’s been around him long enough to be able to feel her own emotions, and that should be good enough for her. 

“You’ve given me something that I’ve been missing for a very long time, and I owe you for that. I want to stay by your side, for as long as you’ll let me. I made that clear yesterday. At least, I thought I did.” Her hands are propped on her hips now, and she bends down just the smallest bit to meet his eyes.

“My side is about to get very messy. You sure you’re up for that?” If everything that she’s said is true, and he’s starting to think it is, then she should be running in the opposite direction. She’s already lived through hell, so why follow him into another one? 

“I’ll let you know at the end of the week.” Her smile puts some color in her cheeks, but she’s still too pale.

“Make sure your stuff is packed tonight. We’re leaving at first light.” The chair creaks as he stands up, and she has to tip her head back to look up at him.

“Where to, boss?” He raises a brow at the title, but she just grins up at him. 

“Florida.” One slim eyebrow rises, and she shrugs when he doesn’t say anything else. Her head bobs a little before she turns on her toes and moves over to where her bag is, and he walks over to the kitchen to make them something simple for dinner. He’ll pack his things afterwards, because they’ve got a long drive ahead of them tomorrow.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap03_zpsjq2krnr7.gif.html)

**DAY 3**

“This smells like a heart attack.” Pale eyes narrow at the food sitting in front of her, and Frank watches the way that her small nose wrinkles up as the thick smell of cooking grease fills the air around them. One slim finger pokes at the shiny piece of bread, and she makes a quiet sound in the back of her throat at the grease there.

“Not good enough for you, princess?” Those eyes turn up to him in a glare, but he just raises a brow at the look before taking a pointed bite of his own burger. It tastes like any other diner lunch special; grease as the primary source of flavor, slightly overcooked meat and dripping cheese, and bread that’s a little tough to chew. 

“I know I can’t actually clog my arteries, but I feel like eating this will be tempting fate. _Look_ at it, Castle. It’s sitting in a literal puddle of grease. Why did I let you order for me?” She hadn’t really let him; when their waitress walked up, Frank quickly ordered for them both of them while pale blue eyes just watched him in amusement. He knows she was amused too, because she kept smiling until their food arrived. 

“You need to eat. People are gonna think I’m starvin’ you,” he says from around his next bite. Her eyes narrow so much that she’s squinting at him, but she looks down right before her eyes widen. He can still see her face well enough to recognize her expression. Surprise. She shouldn’t be. She woke up this morning with a smile and followed him out to the truck with her bags after a quick breakfast, which means that she’s sticking with him. She wants to stay with him, and he’s not stopping her. Which means, in some twisted way, that she’s now his responsibility. 

“You are a man of hidden depths,” she grumbles before finally picking up her burger. 

“And you look like a strong wind could blow you over. Eat.” A few sounds slip out of her, something contradictory, but she keeps eating and doesn’t argue. Good. They need to get back on the road soon, and he’s not in the mood to argue with his…companion? Newest thorn in his side? Sidekick?

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” When he raises a brow at her in question, she rolls her eyes and picks up her sweet tea. “You feel way too responsible and amused. It’s a scary combination, and it’s making me a little uncomfortable. So cut it out and eat.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” That gets her to laugh, loud even in the crowded diner, and he looks away from the string of cheese hanging down her chin. Thorn seems to work best.

**.xXx.**

“Oh, come on, Castle! We’re only, what, a few hours away from Florida? Why stop now?” Dani asks even as she watches the row of motel rooms come closer. The sign had been flickering but definitely promising vacancies, and this place looks nice enough. (Translation: she’s slept in worse places.)

“It’s late. We need to recharge before getting into the city. We’re going to be busy tomorrow.” To be fair, Frank has been driving since six this morning. Yeah, they made a quick stop for lunch, but he’s been driving for pretty much sixteen hours straight. He could use a break, and she’s not going to suggest driving. She’s good at driving, but Frank has trust issues. There’s no way he’s going to sleep with her in control of the vehicle, and she understands that. 

“Right. Tomorrow is all about scoping out the new environment and finding a safe place to bunk down. Got it. Want me to get us a room?” The truck is pulled up in front of the office, parked, and Frank shifts around in his seat. Dani looks over just in time to see him tossing something her way, and she looks down at her lap. Frank’s wallet. “It’s so average. I thought you’d at least have a chain or something. I’m a little disappointed.”

“Go get us some beds,” Frank grunts and then slouches in his seat. Dani tightens her fingers around the plain brown leather wallet, opens her door, and slides out of the truck. The pavement is uneven underneath her feet, and a bell above the office door makes a quiet noise as she walks inside. 

Ten minutes later, the two of them are checked in. The guy behind the counter had looked eighty and barely paid her any attention as she asked for a room with two beds; he just took her money and told her to be out before ten. She relays the information to Frank after telling him the room number, and he parks right in front of their room. They each take one bag into their room, and Dani drops her bag on the bed farthest from the door. She quickly digs into her bag for some pajamas and her toiletries, and she grins over at Frank before darting into the bathroom. He’d been sitting on the end of his bed, and he looks tired. Some sleep will be good for him. 

After she peels her clothes off, she takes a moment to just enjoy the feeling of air against her skin. It’s cool in the motel room, from the air conditioner that’s working in overdrive, and she spins around once while she’s naked just to feel the cold air wrapping around her. Then she’s pulling on clean clothes to sleep in that will keep her covered up. A pair of fuzzy blue socks. Black sweatpants. White sweatshirt. Once she’s completely covered, she digs through her small toiletries bag for her toothbrush and toothpaste. They hit up a drive-thru for dinner, which meant more greasy food, and her teeth feel fuzzy. She feels unclean, which means it’s time to brush her teeth. 

She’s rinsing her mouth out when the first image hits her, right between the eyes. _Dead bodies, three. Two much smaller. His stomach is torn open, and her face is missing._ Dani shakes her head, feels water streaking across her cheeks and dripping down her chin. Her hands brace against the sink as her head pounds, a calm beat at the same pace as her heartbeat, and she pushes a breath out through her nose. She has many bloody memories, but that’s none of them. Still, there’s something familiar about the scene. Something that she should understand. 

The motel towels are thin and rough, and she quickly rubs the fabric across the bottom half of her face. She packs up her bag and picks up her dirty clothes, and she’s just turned towards the closed bathroom door when another image hits her. _Lying down, an unrecognizable face hovering above. Speaking. Everyone’s gone. Shot._ Dani comes back to herself and realizes that her things are on the floor, because her fingers are pulling at fistfuls of her hair. Her head hurts, sharp and twisting pains, and she’s starting to breathe harder. She thinks about calling out to Frank, because something is clearly not right, but more images hit her before she can. Clearer images. 

_“He was shot in the head!” one of the nurses is whispering. That explains the pain, the whiteness all around, the smell. Hospital. Three dead bodies. Maria, holes in her neck and chest. Frank Jr., shots to the abdomen. Lisa, her face is gone. There’s a pain deep inside, something unrelenting, and a roaring sound._

_The hospital and park fades away. The girl leans out of the window, bright smile in the sunshine, and raises the gun. Bang. The face changes. Becomes younger and rounder, a high pitched laugh, before changing back. Alive. The girl is alive, just not the right one._

“Frank,” Dani gasps as her vision returns. She can see the chipped green paint on the bathroom door, and her stomach rolls as she realizes she was seeing things through _Frank’s_ eyes. It’s more than that though; she didn’t just see memories, she could feel him and hear him. Hear what he was thinking in those moments. She can feel him now, on the other side of the bathroom door. All those controlled emotions that she’s been sitting next to all day are gone, replaced by something ugly and angry. She feels her own twisted emotions alongside his as she processes everything she’s seen, lets it all click together, and then her vision is blurring as she claws at the doorknob.

**.xXx.**

He hears the sink start after the pipes make a little bit of noise and then there’s quiet humming to mix with the sound of bristles on teeth. Perfect, straight white teeth. Every time she smiled today, Frank thought about her wide grin as she hung out the window. Kept waiting for her to jump again and go for his gun. Now, as he listens to her quiet sounds as she brushes her teeth, he thinks back to _before_. Parts of that day are still a blur, but some things are too clear. Seeing them that day, his family, that’s clear. He can’t forget that. Still remembers waking up in the hospital and not knowing that they were gone; he’d just felt a sharp pain in his head but couldn’t remember _why_. Couldn’t remember getting shot in the head.

_“I’m alive, after taking a bullet to the brain. Can you do that?”_

That’s what she asked him, after pulling that little stunt of hers. His response was that he’d never shot himself in the head, not like she just had, and it wasn’t a complete lie. It just wasn’t the truth. He took a bullet to the brain and lived, but his little girl didn’t. She did. She’s alive just one room over and brushing her teeth, and he’s sitting on the end of a bed listening to her. It ain’t right. It doesn’t make sense. Even before their deaths, Frank wasn’t a good person. Not really. He was just a person. So why did he get to survive? Why did she?

The yowl of some kind of dying animal pulls him out of his thoughts, because it sounds like the damn thing is in the room with him. He quickly looks around but doesn’t see anything, but the sound is getting louder. The bathroom door is rattling, shaking like it’s about to blow apart, and then the knob finally turns. He doesn’t even get a good look at her before she’s across the room and standing in front of him, and he goes completely still as she drops to her knees at his feet. The sound she’s making has turned into wet sobbing, and she’s shaking all over as she crushes her arms around Frank’s waist and pushes her wet face against his stomach. 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he grits out. For such a little thing, she’s got a really strong grip. Her fingers are bunched up in the back of his shirt, because he pulled his jacket and some of his weapons off after she went into the bathroom, and her arms are tight around his ribcage. 

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It’s hard to hear her over the sobbing, but she doesn’t pull back to speak. He can feel her tears through his shirt now, and his whole body is vibrating along with her shaking even though he’s got his legs spread wide so that they’re not touching her. 

“You wanna be more specific there, princess?” He listens to her sniffle, twice, before she rubs her face against his shirt and then looks up. Her pale eyes are wide and a little bloodshot, her pale cheeks are flushed and drenched, and she’s still steadily crying as she looks up at him. 

“I knew what happened, because I heard you at the graveyard. And I followed everything, after. I heard the story, so I _knew_. How could I say something so stupid? Fuck, Castle, why didn’t you say something?” He must look confused, because her face twists with fresh pain as she moves her right arm up and around to his front. Her sweatshirt is pulled down over her hand, but he can still feel her fingertips pressing against his temple. 

“You just now remembering that you’re not the only one that can—” Before he finishes, the hand on his temple moves down to cover his mouth. He feels his eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t see it because she’s crying against his stomach again. Only one side of her face is pressed against him now, so he can hear her when she starts talking again. 

“Not just you, and you’re right. You’re right, okay? The wrong girl is alive.” Something cold runs through him at the words, and she shivers against him. “I saw it, I don’t know how or why, but I saw it. Saw the park. You in the hospital. Me hanging out the window. It’s like I was you. I could feel you, hear you…fully immersive and scary as hell. How do I get that out of my head? How do you?”

“I don’t.” What the hell is going on with her now? She saw everything? Just like that? She curls up tighter against him now that she’s holding onto the back of his shirt with both hands again, and she’s still crying steadily. Slowly. Hiccoughing quietly every now and then. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. Her nearly white hair is frizzy where it’s rubbed against his shirt, and the back of her hair looks nearly flat in comparison. Under her hair, there’s a stark black mark on the back of her neck. Thick black lines. A tattoo. **LVIII**. He moves one hand to the base of her neck, right under the collar of the sweatshirt so that he’s not touching skin, and listens to the pained sound she makes. 

“The waterworks. Those for me or for you?” Frank’s always grieving. It never really stops, but it’s usually buried deep. Maybe she can feel it more after what she saw, or maybe she can feel more because of how close she is. He doesn’t know how any of it works. 

“If I say both, does that sound like a cop out?” Her voice is quiet and rough, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she pushes up against his hand and clings to him tighter. Too much tighter and she might break one of his ribs. 

“Not if it’s true.” The laugh that comes out of her is wet and low, rusty, and he feels her cheek nuzzle against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Honesty, I promised. I just need a minute. Can I have a minute?” He looks down into her wide eyes and knows that a normal response to seeing a woman crying is to offer comfort. He’s not exactly the comforting type, never really has been and really isn’t now, but he’s not going to turn her away. Not when stray tears are still tracking down her cheeks and fingers are pressing into his back hard enough to bruise. 

“Yeah, princess, I’ll give you a minute.” He feels the tremor that starts at the top of her shoulders, because he still has one hand pressed against her, and it works its way through the rest of her body as she completely falls apart again. Like she was waiting for his permission. So he brings his other hand up to join the first on her back and holds her properly, and he doesn’t fight when she slowly starts to rock them. Just lets her get it all out, until she’s sagging against him.

“I think I’m going to lay down,” she says quietly as she pulls away from him. She keeps her face turned downwards as she rises to her feet, and she shuffles over to her bed. She doesn’t even bother moving her bag off the bed, just slips under the thin blanket with her back to him. 

He looks down as he thinks about going into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and he sees the large dark mark against his gray tee shirt. From all the crying. After another moment of thinking, he falls back against the bed. Just falls back and scoots up enough so that his legs aren’t hanging off the edge. The room sounds almost too quiet now, but he doesn’t move. He closes his eyes, empties his mind, and gets some sleep. He’s got a feeling that he’s going to need it.

**DAY 4**

Dani holds still as she hears Frank start to move around, and she makes sure her breathing stays even as he gets out of bed. She listens to his footsteps fade and then to the bathroom door as it closes, and she rubs her covered hands against her cheeks. Even now, hours later, her eyes still feel raw and sensitive. There’s no point in just lying around though. Frank has plans for today, and they need to talk before they leave. So she presses her palms flat against the bed and pushes herself into a sitting position. She’s sitting the same way when Frank comes out of the bathroom several minutes later, and she glances down at his hands. He’s holding his own bag in his right hand, and her smaller toiletries bag is in his other hand.

“Did you get any sleep?” Frank asks her after tossing her toiletries bag onto her bed. 

“No.” He looks confused, and he feels confused too. She raises her arms so that she can cross them under her chest, but she’s really just trying to hold herself together. “I was scared I’d see something again.”

“About that.” She stays quiet while Frank looks down at his bag, which is now sitting at the foot of his bed, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“What?” It’s asked after her patience starts to wear off, and Frank’s dark eyes flick over towards her. 

“That’s never happened before?” 

“Never. I’ve been free for over twenty years, and nothing like that has ever happened. It’s new.” The last part is whispered, and she digs her fingers against her ribs. 

“You can’t control it?” She shakes her head, three times quickly, and Frank just huffs quietly. Then he stays quiet. 

“Are you mad? That I saw…that?” The park, the hospital…those memories are so much more than just something personal. It’d be like if someone was able to see her in that place, where they changed her. To see the moment when her whole world changed and shifted into something new and unrecognizable. No one should be able to see things like that. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t want to see any of it. Am I, right? Yeah, I’m right. I’m not going to get mad over something you can’t control.”

“But I saw what happened to your family! I _felt_ it! I wasn’t just some bystander watching everything, I was you! Everything you experienced, I experienced! I can still feel it!” She knows she shouldn’t be shouting, shouting is a good way to get caught, but she can’t help it. Doesn’t he understand? “I shouldn’t have been able to do something like that! I’m an empath, Castle! I feel emotions, and that’s it! If something new was going to happen, it would have already happened before now! How are you not freaking out about this?!”

“What good would that do?! Huh?!” he yells back at her. She’s not expecting the amount of anger that comes rolling off of him, and it makes her flinch. At the small movement, Frank rubs a hand over his face and head. Then he walks towards her and lowers himself to his knees at her bedside, which puts them on eye level. 

“There’s not supposed to be anything new,” she whispers. Frank’s eyes look even darker up close, and there’s a part of her that wants to reach out to him. She can feel his anger though, and she knows that touching him would only hurt her. 

“You also said that being able to feel your own emotions was new. Maybe that was the trigger for whatever happened last night.” She didn’t think of that. Two decades of numbness. Now, after only a few days in Frank’s constant presence, she’s experienced something new. He might be right. 

“I don’t want it to happen again.” She lost herself, just for a moment, and she doesn’t like losing control. It’s dangerous. What if she doesn’t come back?

“Yeah, well, I’m not big on it either. You think I like knowing that you saw that?” She shakes her head, and Frank sighs. “If you leave, it might never happen again.”

“I’m not leaving unless you want me to, Castle. Besides, it might keep happening now no matter what. So are you telling me to leave?” Frank slowly gets to his feet, and she tips her head back so that she can keep looking at him. 

“By my count, we still have three days together before I have to decide. Get ready to move out, princess.” She hates that nickname, but hearing it is a sort of relief. She grins up at him and then keeps smiling when he rolls his eyes at her, and she quickly pushes the sheet off of her. She’s still worried about what might happen, but she’s not leaving Frank. Not until he tells her to.

**.xXx.**

“Miami is absolutely beautiful, so why are you only looking at places that look like they should be condemned for us to live in?” Dani asks and looks over at Frank. His eyes are on the road, which is for the best, and he taps his thumb across the steering wheel.

“We’re not living on the beach,” he says and makes a turn. They’ve looked at eight buildings already, and all of them had been away from the beach. She’s not asking for much. Not really.

“I know you want to stay under the radar or whatever, but living on the beach would totally be under the radar! Come on, who would suspect Frank Castle of living on the beach? We can even buy you some bright flowery shirts. No one would believe that a man in a bright flowery shirt was Frank Castle!” Frank just grunts and continues driving, still far away from any pretty beaches, and Dani sighs as she slumps back in her seat. 

“You’re no fun, Castle.”

“We’re not here for fun,” he reminds her. Like she needs reminding?

“No, we’re here for you to kill bad guys. I both acknowledge and accept that. That being said, I’m still going to the beach before we leave.” Frank looks over at her for just a second before focusing his attention back on the road, and Dani grins as she feels his confusion. He’s surprised, probably because she has no problem admitting who he is. He’s a killer, and she’s still not going anywhere. 

“Won’t you just burn?” She does have a pale complexion, and she does burn easily in sunlight. Really easily. 

“Yep, but my healing will take care of the sunburn,” she says through a grin. Frank doesn’t say anything, so she slumps against the seat and closes her eyes. She’s still picturing beautiful sandy beaches twenty minutes later when the truck comes to a stop, and she slowly peeks one eye open. Yep, another run down looking apartment building. 

“Stay here while I look around.” He said the same thing at the last eight buildings, and she did as he asked. She doesn’t need to look around, not until Frank actually picks somewhere for them to bunker down during the duration of their stay. 

Ten minutes after Frank leaves, Dani opens the passenger door and then scrambles up onto the hood of the truck. It’s hot because it’s been running and from the harsh sunlight, but she likes the way it feels through her clothes. It’s hot in Miami, much hotter than it was in New York, so she might not be able to get away with wearing clothes that completely cover her. Not if she wants to blend in it. She’s done it before, walked around with her arms and legs on display, but it makes things a little more difficult for her. 

Twenty minutes after Frank leaves, Dani raises her arm and starts tracing shapes in the fluffy white clouds. Her goal is to find something ridiculous to tell Frank about; he won’t laugh like her grandfather used to when she was little, but she might get something resembling a smile out of him. Possibly. Stranger things have happened. She’s still tracing shapes when she feels someone getting closer. Curiosity. Nervous. A small tendril of fear. She holds still as the person comes even closer, all the way up to the truck, but she doesn’t move until the person speaks. 

“Are-Are you okay?” A guy, and his tone is low. She rolls her head across the hot metal and squints her eyes open. Average height, skinny, shaggy brown hair around his face, and blue eyes. 

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Are you okay?” Confusion joins the swirl of emotions inside him, and Dani looks at the piercings in the man’s face. Those are interesting, and must have hurt. 

“I’m not the one laying on a truck.” When she raises her brow, he looks down and scuffs his shoe against the dirt. “Ma’am.”

“I wanted to look at the clouds. See that one there? Kind of looks like a tractor.” She points to a cloud on her far left and then watches as the guy turns around to look too. 

“It kind of does,” he agrees quietly. _Anger, frustration…excitement_. Things must have gone Frank’s way. It’s about time. The guy is turning back towards her when she realizes that Frank is almost to the truck, and she can actually see the blood draining out of the guy’s face as he notices Frank. That’s not good. He might faint. 

“And who’s this, darlin’?” Frank doesn’t sound like Frank. His tone is lighter than she’s used to, and what’s with calling her _darlin’_ in that tone of voice?

“We haven’t made it that far. I’m Dani, and this is—”

“Francis Glass, call me Frank.” She’s glad he stepped in, because she wasn’t sure what to call him, but Francis? 

“Nice to meet you. I should, um, be going,” the guy says and gives an awkward wave before quickly stumbling off. She didn’t even get his name first. Once he’s out of sight, she rolls her head to the opposite side so she can look at Frank. 

“You sound too jovial,” she accuses. Frank turns his scowl down on her, and that’s more like the ruthless killer she’s been living with the past few days. 

“I’m a newly married man. Why wouldn’t I be jovial?” Dani feels her jaw become loose, but it doesn’t last long. Her jaw snaps closed with a quiet click, and she pushes herself up into a sitting position. 

“Married?” Her voice is higher than usual, sounds a little strangled actually, and Frank feels…almost nervous. 

“We don’t look nothing alike, so calling you my sister wouldn’t work. People don’t look too closely at married couples.”

“You could have asked me first!” Married? Her and Frank? Nothing good can come from this kind of lie, but she’s not going to give Frank too much grief for his decision. Pretending will be harder for him than it is for her. “So we’re staying here then?”

“Yeah,” Frank says without looking at her. He’s looking down at the ground, with both hands braced against the hood of the truck. He’s got some long nights ahead of him, taking on criminals, and she’s not going to make this any harder on him. 

“Well, let’s go take a look around and make a list of things we’ll need. Oh! Do I get to wear a ring? With fake diamonds?” Frank’s head snaps up at that, and she grins when his eyes meet hers. “Don’t give me that look, Castle. If you want it, you put a ring on it. Even a fake ring.”

“Won’t a fake ring turn your finger green?” That’s what he’s worried about? Of all the things he could be worried about, he’s choosing to worry about her finger turning colors?

“Little bit of color never hurt anyone,” she shrugs. Frank’s cheek twitches, like he wants to smile, but he just shakes his head instead. 

“Get down so we can go make a list. We’re wastin’ daylight,” Frank says and knocks his knuckles against the hood a few times. Dani slides off the hood so that she’s standing next to him, and she makes sure that the long sleeve of her thin shirt is covering her hand before reaching out. When Frank just stands still looking at her hand, Dani sighs and reaches for him. Her covered palm slides against his, and she curls her fingers around his hand. 

“Just a hand, Castle. It ain’t gonna bite,” she says as she looks up at him. He looks down at her, first at where they’re holding hands and then up into her eyes. She’d say that he looks afraid, but she can’t feel any fear coming off of him. He nods without breaking eye contact and then starts walking, pulling her along behind him. Dani smiles at his back before hurrying her steps to catch up to him, and they walk side by side towards their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s still a tiny bit shorter than I usually write, but I really wanted to update and this seemed like a good place to stop. So, about what Dani saw. I’m not saying that she has a new ability or that it will happen again, but I will say that Frank is right. Dani is experiencing new things, which is acting as a trigger. So that means there will be more changes to come! I’m really looking forward to writing for this story, so I’ll hopefully be able to update again soon!


	4. Chapter 4

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap04_zpskffdlgp7.jpg.html)

**DAY 4**

**CONTINUED**

“Can we get this one?” He can’t even see her face because of whatever she’s holding, and Frank narrows his eyes at the…bedding? Why does bedding come in that color? It’s offensive to his eyes.

“No. Put that back where you found it.” Her face pops up above the bright orange bedding, and she’s pouting up at him while holding her eyes comically wide. “Better yet, burn it.”

“Fun sucker,” she huffs and then spins around on her toes. Frank sighs as she marches off and turns a corner, and he runs a hand over his face as he looks down at the full shopping cart in front of him. He should have done the shopping on his own. He should have left her at the new place and done the shopping on his own. No, wait, she probably would have tried to meet the neighbors. The woman is impossible. 

_“Dammit, Castle, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”_ he thinks just as she comes skidding around the corner again. The bag she throws on top of all the other shit in the cart has **bed-in-a-bag** stamped on the front, and the only colors he can see are black and a very dark maroon. 

“There! Serious colors for a serious man! But I’m gettin’ the throw pillows!” she yells and stomps off. Frank’s head drops to hang between his shoulders, and his eyes fall on the cheap gold band on his left hand. Cheap, a few scratches on it, and bought in a pawn shop. She’d cackled as they left the shop with matching rings, but he’s had a bad taste in his mouth ever since. 

_“It doesn’t mean anything, Castle. This,” she pauses to wave her left hand and he sees a blur of tarnished gold before she continues speaking, “This is just a hunk of metal that happens to form a circle that fits on one of my bony little fingers. That’s it. So don’t get all weird on me.”_

_“I ain’t getting weird,” he grumbles as he turns the truck towards a furniture store. The place is sparsely furnished, so they won’t need to pick up much. There’s already a bed and a couch, a small kitchen table, so this shouldn’t take long._

“Oh! We still need bathroom stuff! This way, sweetheart!” she calls out before ducking down another aisle. Frank grits his teeth and forces his face into something resembling a smile as an elderly couple looks at him, and the older man winks at Frank before following after his wife. 

“I think I hate you,” Frank states when he finally catches up to her. She’s holding a shower curtain in each hand, one with tropical fish and one with color alternating stripes, and she hums as she weighs them up and down. 

“Love it when you talk dirty. So, fish or stipes?” she asks without missing a beat. She won’t admit it, but she’s still spooked about what happened in the motel room. There’s a tightness around the corners of her eyes, and her smiles are too bright. She’s forcing cheerfulness, and he’s waiting for the fallout. 

“Stripes,” he answers. She looks over her shoulder and up at him, and the look in her wide blue eyes is surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to give a real answer. 

“They’re rainbow stripes,” she says a little absently. Maybe she’s going into shock. 

“Still better than those ugly ass fish.” This time her smile is small, she’s not even showing a hint of teeth from between her pale pink lips, and the look deep in her eyes flickers. Yeah, there’s going to be a fallout. And it’s going to be ugly. 

“Stripes it is,” she declares and turns back around. The rejected curtain is placed back on its little hook, and she tosses the other one into their already full cart. “Now, where’s the little cup holders for toothbrushes?”

**.xXx.**

“We didn’t need all of this,” Frank says as they carry several bags up the stairs towards their new home. Dani’s leading the way, and she knows that Frank is only grumbling because she’s carrying a heavier load than him. Well, he can just keep pouting because she’s stronger than he is. Whether he likes it or not.

“I’m not sleeping on a bare mattress or eating off a tabletop. We’re not barbarians,” she says as she reaches the top of the stairs. There’s other inhabitants, she can read the door numbers, but there’s no one standing out in the hallway. She goes straight to the far end of the hallway, to where their room is, and easily fishes a key out of her pants pocket. It only takes a little twisting and fancy acrobatics to unlock the door, and she pushes it open with her toes before walking inside. 

It’s not really much to brag about. It opens up into the combined living room and kitchen, and the only thing that separates the two areas is an old couch that looks like it time traveled straight from the seventies. There’s a tiny four person kitchen table at the back of the open space, and it looks like a strong wind would completely shatter it. Besides the front door, there’s only two other doors in the room. The one on her left leads into a small bathroom, but the tub had looked decently sized when she looked at it earlier. At the back of the room is the door that leads to the single bedroom, and the bed is a queen. There’s a small closet and a small dresser with two sides of drawers. So the whole place is tiny, but it’ll work. 

“Didn’t you say you lived in a cave once?” Frank’s voice is rough after the door closes solidly behind him, and she listens to the way that he dumps the bags he’s carrying on the couch. She can tell that’s where he put them because of the way the bags crinkle and the couch groans. 

“Yes. I did not say that I enjoyed it.” She places her bags behind the couch, in the center of the room, and bends over to start unpacking. Shower stuff, so she’ll start there. 

Her feet balance on the edge of the tub so that she can reach the curtain rod, and she hums quietly to herself as she carefully slips the little rings of the shower curtain onto the rod. Sometimes she pauses when the unfamiliar ring on her finger catches her eyes, because she’s never been the jewelry type of girl. No rings, no necklaces, no bracelets, no nothing. Rings usually held sentiment, and everyone that she once knew is dead. No necklaces, because the thought of anything tight around her neck only reminds her of the collar she was forced to wear. No bracelets, because she’s been cuffed and bound more times than she cares to count. 

Frank’s going to freak out at some point, she’s sure of that. Frank actually was married, in his past life, and she can’t imagine that seeing a wedding ring on his finger is good for him. He’ll break, sooner or later, and she’ll have to deal with the fallout. She doesn’t mind though, and she definitely isn’t going to take it personally. Frank had a wife, had a family, and he had to watch them die. The ring he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, it’s just another lie, but it doesn’t mean anything to her because she’s never worn a wedding ring before. She has no memories attached to wearing a simple gold band. Frank does. So she’ll keep an eye on him, and she’ll be there for him when the time comes. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do with all these pillows?!” Dani sighs as she pushes the curtain rod back into place and lets her shoes slide off the edge of the tub. 

“You’re supposed to make this shithole look pretty!” she yells back as she reaches into the bag again. She pulls out the little toothbrush holder, just a plain gray plastic one, and she sits it on the side of the dirty looking sink. She almost feels bad about putting the new toothbrushes in it, because everything in the bathroom looks so dirty in contrast against the bright white bristles.

“Shitholes ain’t supposed to look pretty!” She’ll be there for him when the break comes, or she might break him a little ahead of schedule. It depends on how much he keeps trying to piss her off.

**.xXx.**

Frank flips the slab of hamburger meat in the little pan just as she starts laughing, and he looks over his shoulder once he’s sure that the meat is cooking properly. She’s sitting at the small kitchen table, legs pulled up and crossed under her, and her head is leaned back as she laughs. Her hands are crossed over her stomach as her entire body shakes, and the sound of her laughter is loud in the small space. Her head falls forward so that she’s looking up at him, and teary pale blue eyes meet his as she reaches up to wipe at the moisture on her cheeks.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks her. They spent the afternoon shopping, and they spent the evening _decorating_ their new little shithole. It’s getting late and he’s just now cooking, because they did remember to stop and get a few groceries, and she’s been quiet. Until now. 

“We made it through Day Four. I’d say that’s pretty impressive. Wouldn’t you?” she asks and smiles up at him. It’s not a fake smile. She’s not forcing her cheeks to stretch, but it’s still a wide smile. Wide enough to cause little crinkles next to her eyes. 

“Only three more to go,” he realizes out loud and turns back to look down at the tiny stove. In three days, she’ll ask him if she can stay. If he wants her to stay. How in the hell is he going to answer that? She follows him without question, and sometimes when she looks at him…he can see just how goddamn _grateful_ she is. It makes him itch, makes him want to hit something, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to look her in the eye and send her away. 

He never wanted anyone’s help. Not with this. She says she doesn’t want to help him kill anyone. She’s been pretty straightforward about not killing anyone, and he respects that because she’s not asking him to stop. She still says she wants to help him though, because he’s continuously helping her. Or so she says. He knows she has abilities, he knows that he could use her…but that thought chafes. He doesn’t use people. Not like that. She’s digging in right next to him though, and he doesn’t know how to turn her away at this point. 

“Your burger’s gonna burn. Because the overdone one will be yours.” Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he moves the slab of hamburger meat from the pan to a small plate that came in a small set that she’d called darling before gently placing it in the cart. 

“Stop talking.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” A part of him firmly believes that she just saluted his back, and he makes a quiet grunting noise before starting on the second burger. There’s not enough room in the pan for more than one at a time.

**.xXx.**

Frank goes out that night, on a scouting mission only, and Dani actually believes him so she stays put. Washes their few dishes, dances around the small space in just her socks, and then takes a shower. The water pressure isn’t the best, but the water actually manages to get scalding hot so that’s good enough for her. Once she’s clean and dressed in comfy pajamas, she walks into the only bedroom. The bed stuff is sitting in the bag on the bare mattress, and Dani stretches her arms out in front of her to get her joints to pop before opening up the bag.

Twenty minutes later, the bed is perfectly made. Well, maybe not made up to military standards, but she feels pretty accomplished. The fitted sheet is on correctly, after three separate tries, and the top sheet isn’t too wrinkly. She’s got the sheet and the blanket pulled back on the side closest to the door, and the black pillow at the head of the bed looks inviting if she does say so herself. Which she does. Her clothes and other things are stored on the left side of the dresser, but this isn’t her room. So she sets up the plain white lamp on the bedside table, the one next to where the pulled back sheet and blanket are, and she does a little maneuvering to get it plugged in and then smiles in triumph when it turns on. 

With that task done, she hums quietly to herself and walks back out into the living room. Her old duffel, the one that was holding her clothes, is stuffed with her new bed things. Or, well, couch things. She pulls out a sheet first, because the fabric of the couch is itchy and she wants to actually get _some_ sleep tonight. So she fights with the couch cushions as she makes sure that every inch of itchy fabric is covered, and she stops just long enough to have a little victory dance before reaching back into her duffel bag. Her quilt is dark blue and white, nothing bright, but her small pillow is bright yellow. 

Her fist punches the pillow a couple of times to get into a comfortable shape, and she drops down against it as she wiggles under the quilt. During the day, she can fold the quilt and drape it over the back of the couch. She’ll store her sheet and bright pillow in her old duffel bag, because it would look odd if anyone happened to look inside. She doubts anyone will ever come inside their little shithole, but it’s better to be prepared for anything. So, with everything done and all the lights out, Dani snuggles down into her little nest on the couch and keeps her eyes trained on the front door.

**.xXx.**

The apartment is dark when Frank silently walks inside, and his eyes quickly adjust as he closes the door quietly behind him. He can see a couple of plates and glasses drying next to the sink, so it looks like she washed up. The apartment is quiet and still, and he takes two steps into the living room before realizing that there are eyes watching him. He can’t see the pale color in the dark, but he can feel the weight of her gaze. He can also see the small lump on the couch, so he knows that she’s bunkered down there for the night.

“Better not get any blood on those new sheets.” Her voice sounds tired, but he can’t tell if it’s because she’s been waiting up for him or if he somehow woke her up. 

“No blood,” he promises as he starts walking again. He hears her hum as he walks around the couch, the end where her head is, and he walks straight towards the bedroom. The door opens to show a little bit of light, and he looks at the plain lamp turned on next to the bed as he closes the door. All of the bed stuff is dark. The blanket is black, the pillows are black, and the sheets are a dark maroon. He knows that because one side of the bed has been turned down, so that he can literally just collapse against the mattress and drag the sheet and blanket over himself. 

He kicks his boots off first and tries to ignore how much better he feels without the weight strapped to his feet. Next is his shirt and pants, and he falls down against the mattress in just his underwear. His body’s so tired that the springy mattress feels soft, and he blindly reaches out to pull at the sheet and blanket. Once he’s fully covered, he looks over at the lamp. The shade over it is white, plain, and it’s the last thing he sees before he lets himself fall asleep.

**.xXx.**

_“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a doll?” Dani grits her teeth as the back of a finger traces the length of her cheek, and she tries to ignore the tremors in her arms and legs as the doctor looks her over. “Like a little porcelain doll. Do you think today is the day you’ll break?”_

_“Only one way to find out.” Her voice is rough, nothing doll-like about it, because they haven’t given her a drop of water in over three weeks. She feels like she’s dying, she should be dead, but she just keeps on living._

_“I hope not. I think you are going to be my masterpiece, my little doll.” She wants to argue. Wants to scream. But there’s a part of her that knows it’s true. She’s nothing more than a doll. A plaything. Something to be taken out, examined and adjusted, and then put away until there’s need of her again. “Do not disappoint me, Danielle.”_

_“I’ll dance on your grave one day,” she says as the doctor pulls away. The chains holding her to the wall rattle as she strains after him, and she bares her teeth as she pulls her chapped lips apart in a snarl. The doctor smiles at her before turning around and leaving the room, and Dani slumps against the wall._

_Her wrists and ankles are chained to the wall, but she has the strength to break the chains. Easily. If she so much as pulls on them too strongly though, the collar around her neck will send regular pulses through her brain. The electricity is enough to kill a normal person, several times over, but the shocks just keep her from trying to break free. The damn thing is literally bolted into her spine, and she can’t rip it off. She’s tried. The shocks are too strong._

_The door to the room she’s in opens, and she lifts her head as footsteps echo. It’s not the doctor. His footsteps are nearly silent. The person walking into her room has a heavier gait, and the chains rattle as she strains to get a good look. The man walking into her room looks like a giant, especially in comparison to her small size. The heavy metal door closes behind him, and the first thing Dani notices (after his impressive size) is the collar bolted around his neck. Another one? Like her?_

_“There is only one rule, and it is very simple. Only one of you will leave this room alive.” The doctor’s voice echoes around the room, he’s talking through a speaker, and the shackles around Dani’s ankles and wrists are released. She stumbles forward a few steps, and the large man in the room with her smiles. Like he’s won something._

_“No, I’m not going to…You can’t make me!” she screams. A small shock goes through her collar, not strong enough to immobilize her, but it’s a reminder. A reminder that she’s not in control. Not anymore._

_“That just makes it easier for me,” the man in front of her says. He grins just before a large fist knocks against her cheek, and her bare feet slide against the concrete floor for a few feet. He’s strong, stronger than average people, just like her. She swishes the blood around her mouth from the cut against the inside of her cheek, the cut that’s already healing, before swallowing. Blood’s better than nothing._

_“We don’t have to do this,” she says as she looks up at the man. He’s just like her. They’ve experimented on him, hurt him…he’s just like her. The big man stalls and stops walking towards her, and his head tilts to the side in confusion._

_“Yes, we do. I’m not dying tonight, little girl.” He’s serious. This man, this man who is just like her, is going to try to kill her. If she does nothing, she’ll die. It’ll all be over. All this time spent just surviving will have been for nothing. She’ll die as someone else’s prisoner._

_“Yes, you are.”_

_The fight is brutal. She never fought, before. She never had a reason to. She’d never even so much as slapped someone before this moment, but it was like her body knew what to do instinctually. When he swung at her, she either ducked or raised a limb to block the hit. She fought through broken bones and blood slicking down her skin, because she healed as she fought. The more her adrenaline pumped, the faster she healed. The man healed too, but she started to get the upper hand. Her hits landed more often, more accurately, and she started to win. She started to win._

_She’s standing behind him. One of her feet is pressing down on the back of his knee, because he’s kneeling in front of her, and her head is thrown back as she tightens her hands around his face. One hand is braced under his chin, the other is gripping the side of his head, and she can hear herself grunting in exertion as her body twists. Hands are pulling at her arms, fighting to pull her away, to pull her off, and her teeth grind painfully against each other as her arms give a sharp twist._

_Just like that…it’s over. The man’s head has been halfway pulled off, and she screams as she finishes it. Pulls his head completely off of his body, and she drops the dismembered head before stumbling backwards. Her back hits the concrete wall, and she looks down. She’s only wearing a thin white gown, and the fabric is stained just like her skin. Blood. His. Hers. She just killed a man, and there isn’t a scratch left on her. She healed. She’s alive._

_“Congratulations, Danielle.”_

_Her head falls back against the wall as she screams and screams and screams._

**DAY 5**

She’s thrashing on the couch, but her screams are muffled because she’s lying face down against a bright yellow pillow. He doesn’t even remember seeing her buy that. The screams are what woke him. He thought he was dreaming at first, but he quickly realized that the sound was real and coming from the next room. So he’d stumbled out of the sheet still wrapped around him and went straight to the couch, and now he’s just looking down at her.

Her face is pressed against the pillow, her knees are digging into the couch cushion, and her spine is arched as she continues to scream. The sound is muffled, but it still sounds tortured to him. Like she’s dying. Like something inside of her is dying, and he can’t leave her like that. He might not be a good man, maybe he never was, but he ain’t cruel. 

One arm locks around her middle as he hauls her up into the air, and he clamps his other hand over her mouth. He doesn’t need the neighbors calling the cops on them because she’s screaming bloody murder, and her body instantly bucks against him. He’s holding her back tight against his front, they’re both kneeling on the center of the couch, and she’s strong. The hand that wraps around his wrist and tries to pull his hand away from her mouth is gripping him tight enough to bruise instantly, and she nearly manages to throw him off of her. _Nearly_. He tightens the hold around her middle and forces the back of her head against his shoulder, and his cheeks moves the hair away from her ear so that he can make sure she can hear him. 

“Come on now, girl, wake up! It ain’t real, you hear me?! Whatever hell you’re seein’, it ain’t real! So wake your ass up!” The screams have died down into pain-filled whimpers, and if she squeezes his wrist any tighter she’ll break the bone. “Wake up, Dani. Wake up.”

The words are whispered right against her ear, and maybe it’s saying her name that finally does it. She stops bucking against him and just goes tense, and he can see enough of her face to see that her eyes are open. Open and a little vacant. Her body’s trembling as she hyperventilates, and she hasn’t let go of his wrist. Maybe because his hand is still covering her mouth, but he doesn’t trust her not to scream yet. Her eyes clear after she starts to blink, but she’s still shaking against him. Harder now. 

“Hand.” The one word is muffled but clear, and he can feel tears streaking over his hand as it covers her mouth. He slowly pulls away until his hand is just hovering in front of her face, but she’s still holding onto his wrist. The hold is looser but still tight, and the pain in her eyes shifts into confusion. 

“You still in there?” he asks after a moment. She’s still breathing out of rhythm and shaking against him, and she’s just staring at his hand like it’s a grenade about to go off. 

“You touched me.” She sounds as confused as she looks, and that’s when he remembers rule number one. No touching. She’d said that physical touch hurt her, actually hurt her, but she’s still holding onto his wrist. He’s still got an arm wrapped around her waist too, but he’s not touching skin. Only the sweatshirt she went to sleep in. 

“You were screaming. Didn’t want the neighbors to call the cops,” he explains. 

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” Her fingers spread apart, so that a couple of fingers are touching the top of his hand, and he’s suddenly aware of all the places where they’re touching. He’s kneeling on the couch with her pulled tight against him, he can feel every small shake that goes through her body, and his chin is even still hooked over her shoulder as they both look at where she’s holding his wrist. 

“What’s it usually feel like?” The confusion is shifting into wonder, and he holds still as she finally releases his wrist. Her fingertips gently move over the darkening skin of his wrist, there’s definitely going to be dark bruises in the shape of her hand and fingers, and her head tilts so that her temple presses against his. It’s too much contact. They’re too close. He’s got to get away from her, but not until she answers his question. 

“Like little razorblades dragging across my skin, no matter the strongest emotion the person is feeling at the time. Everything becomes too intense, too much, and _it hurts_. This doesn’t hurt.” Her palm slides across the top of his hand as she says the last sentence, and her fingers spread out to rest gently over his. 

“What am I feeling?”

“Trapped. Curious. Angry, but that’s a given at this point. You’re uncomfortable.” Her eyes finally move away from his raised hand and look over at him, and there’s darker flecks of blue in her pale eyes around her pupils. “Can I tell you a secret, Castle? I’m uncomfortable too.”

“Then can we end this?”

“This moment or this partnership?” she asks with a raised brow. He doesn’t know what kind of face he makes, but it makes her laugh. Her head tips back against his shoulder as her body shakes with laughter instead of from the residual fear of her nightmare, and he rolls his shoulders to push her away from him as he gets to his feet. She twists around so that she lands on her back on the couch instead of on her face, and she’s still smiling when she looks up at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t have the nightmares very often. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“Better not,” he huffs. She laughs again, and he raises a brow as he looks down at her. “I don’t see nothin’ funny here.”

“I do,” she says with a little grin. When he just continues to look down at her, she pointedly moves her eyes over him. From the top of his head, down to his toes, and then slowly back up his body until her eyes are locked with his. “I just didn’t know you were a boxer-briefs kind of guy. For some reason, I pictured you as a tighty-whitey type.”

“This partnership is over,” Frank says after taking a quick look down. He’s only wearing the black boxer-briefs he went to sleep in, because he didn’t think about pulling on pants or a shirt when he heard her muffled screaming. 

“Aww, come on! It’s a good look on you!” she yells after him as he moves back to the bedroom. Things keep changing, for her, and he can’t tell yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

**.xXx.**

“I’m sorry about the underwear comment.” Frank showered and got ready for the day without making a sound, and Dani is sitting at the kitchen table and watching as Frank makes breakfast even though it’s nearly three o’clock in the afternoon.

Frank remains silent as he scrambles eggs, and Dani sighs as she props her fist against her cheek. While Frank was in the shower, she got dressed for the day. Since it’s summer in Miami, she’s showing a little skin for once. Her shorts go halfway down her thighs and are a plain denim, and she’s wearing a plain light blue v-neck tee shirt. She’s still wearing socks and her old dirty white sneakers, but she looks normal enough. More normal than if she’d pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Frank had barely even glanced her way before starting on breakfast. 

“I panicked, okay? I had a nightmare, I woke up, and _you were touching me_. Put yourself in my place, Castle. For the past twenty years, anytime someone touched me…anytime someone touched me, I had to stop myself from screaming in pain. And I don’t scream easily, not anymore. Before that, the only time I was touched was if I was fighting to the death or if I was being tested or experimented on. I know you’ve had your own share of shit, but can you just try and imagine that? The last time I was touched without any kind of pain or ill intent, was over thirty years ago. So, yeah, I panicked. Sue me,” she rambles out. She sits back in her chair and huffs as she crosses her arms, because she’s said her piece now. She’s not sure if it made any sense or if it got through to him, but she feels a little better after getting all of that off her chest. 

“I know a good lawyer,” Frank says after a moment. He still hasn’t looked at her, he’s just scrambling eggs and occasionally looking at the gurgling coffeepot, but the words sound easy and casual. Like they’re having a normal conversation. It’s almost nice. 

“I hope you mean Foggy, because I like Foggy. If you weren’t such an idiot, he would have totally gotten you off those charges. The other one? I think he operates better outside of a courtroom.” She keeps her tone conversational, even uncrosses her arms and taps her fingers against the kitchen tabletop, but she’s a little annoyed that Frank still hasn’t looked at her. He does make a quiet grunting sound, like his own version of a laugh. 

“You think he’s better outside of a courtroom?” Frank asks her as he moves the scrambled eggs onto two plates. 

“I know you two have a…how do I put this?...a difference of opinion when it comes to your nighttime activities, but you gotta give the guy props. At least he’s trying,” she says honestly. Maybe Daredevil’s system will work and maybe it won’t, but he’s doing something. That’s better than doing nothing or pretending that there’s nothing wrong out there. 

“And failing.”

“Only time will tell.” 

They revert back to silence as Frank continues to cook, but it doesn’t feel quite as strained. Dani smiles a little when Frank places their breakfast plates on the table, but his face remains impassive as he turns back around. She watches as he pours them both a giant travel mug of coffee, and she bites the inside of her lip to stop herself from smiling when he drops the sugar bowl next to her mug on the table. Their eyes don’t properly meet until Frank is sitting down across from her, but he doesn’t speak until after she’s shoveled in a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

“I get it. You panicked and went with humor. Because of something new.” Dani slowly chews her eggs as she thinks that over, even though she doesn’t really have to think it over because he’s right. She panicked and then made a joke, because of something new. First she was able to see _inside Frank’s head_ , which is still freaking her out whenever she stops long enough to think about it, and now she can touch someone. Can touch Frank. Without feeling any kind of pain. 

“I kind of want to run. And keep running until we’re on opposite sides of the world, because new things? Scary as hell. The rest of me? Wants to stay right by your side for as long as I possibly can, because what if this only happens with you? What if I leave you, and everything goes away? Right now, I can feel how nervous and scared I am. How confused and a little bit excited, because I actually feel alive for the first time in decades. I’m not ready to give that up.” She stops as her eyes meet his, and she can’t read the look in his eyes. He feels calm, a little curious, and there’s the ever burning anger deep down inside. She focuses on the first two emotions as she continues. “But I will if you tell me to. Say the word, Castle, and I’m gone. Because I’m using you. It’s horrible, deplorable, and whatever other synonyms…but it’s true. So all you gotta do is tell me to leave, and I will.”

“We always gonna have deep emotional talks over breakfast? ‘Cause that ain’t what I signed up for.” He’s being honest with her about that, she can tell that much, and she can hear her own quiet laughter as she shakes her head. 

“Message received. What’s the plan for today, boss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter down! I really liked this chapter. I know there wasn’t a lot of action, except for the little bit in Dani’s nightmare/flashback, but I love writing the small interactions between Dani and Frank. They’re still trying to figure each other out and building their partnership is fun for me, because they’re alike in some ways but so different in others. If there’s any questions about anything, I’d be happy to answer them!


	5. Chapter 5

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap05_zpsb5pyx8fp.jpg.html)

**DAY 5**

**CONTINUED**

“For the record! I said this was a bad idea!” Dani yells as she tightens her grip around Frank’s wrist. It’s the same one she bruised when he woke her up, and she’s trying to be careful and not accidentally break any bones.

“You want a gold star, princess?!” Frank yells up at her. Her other hand is gripping the edge of the building, fingers starting to crack the concrete, and she can hear footsteps pounding across the roof and getting closer to where she’s hanging and holding Frank up. 

“You’re not gonna like this!” She looks down as Frank scowls up at her, and she grins as she releases her hold on the roof’s edge.

**NINE HOURS EARLIER**

“That’s the target? That guy?” Dani asks before taking a long sip of her milkshake. Her and Frank are sitting outside of a small little shop, she’s drinking a milkshake and enjoying the heat, and Frank looks almost normal. He’s wearing jeans and a black tee shirt, and the baseball cap on his head shadows most of his face and hides the bruises. Whenever someone glances their way, Dani makes eye contact with them and grins until they become uncomfortable and look away.

“Lower your voice,” Frank grunts and slumps in his chair a little more. There’s people all around them. Elderly people, families, couples…it’s a whole mixture of people enjoying the sunshine and the shops, and she doesn’t feel any kind of alarm so she knows that no one can overhear them. 

“I’m just sayin’, he looks like he’s gonna fall over dead any minute. What’re you killin’ him for?” she asks before turning back to her chocolate milkshake. Frank looks all around them before his eyes settle on a man across the street, and the man looks mostly ordinary. Khaki pants, white shirt open at the throat, skinny, thin brown hair, and a long nose. That’s what stands out the most to her. 

“How’s he feel?” Dani cuts her eyes over at him, but Frank is still looking across the street. So she huffs and focuses her attention on the man, until she can only pick his emotions out of the ocean of emotions surrounding her. Pun fully intended. 

“Dark. Some people just feel… _wrong_ , inside. I don’t really know how to describe it. His emotions taste bitter, acrid. He’s hateful. He’s done some bad shit, huh?” she asks as she looks back over at Frank. He’s still looking across the street, but she keeps her attention on him. Moves her eyes over the busted shape of his nose and the strong bruised line of his jaw. 

“Dealer and a user. Puts out bad shit on purpose to kill the competition. He likes to watch them as they overdose,” Frank says quietly. No one is paying any attention to them, but she understands why he’s being so cautious. Normal people don’t talk about this kind of stuff while sipping on milkshakes. 

“So he’s a scumbag that kills other scumbags?” She thought Frank only killed people that did really bad things, like killing innocent people. 

“Most users are scumbags, but not all. He’s killed a lot of kids with his tampered products too, and he’s just the first name on the list.” Frank’s dark eyes finally dart over towards her, but it only lasts for a second before he’s looking across the street again. 

“Ooh, there’s a list? Can I see it?” Frank huffs out something that sounds like a laugh as he shakes his head, and Dani definitely does not pout before finishing off her milkshake. “Can I come along this time? You can think of it as a team bonding experience.”

“If I say yes, will you shut up?”

“Possibly. If you say no, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Frank sighs like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Dani bites down on her smile as he looks over at her. Really looks over at her. She can tell by the resigned look on his face that she’s already won, but she still wants to hear him say it. 

“Fine. You can tag along.” She has to stop herself from doing a little fist pump, but her face must show her excitement because Frank rolls his eyes before looking across the street at the target again. 

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You can count on me, boss.”

**.xXx.**

“Oh! So sorry! You okay?” She is ahead of him at the top of the stairs, and Frank looks around her body to see a guy sprawled on the floor. He must have been about to come around the railing and start down the stairs when he ran into her, and Frank fights back a sigh as they both continue to apologize to each other.

“Everything alright?” he asks after a moment. She makes a noise of surprise and then finishes moving up the stairs, and Frank realizes that it’s the same guy from yesterday. The one who was talking to her when Frank walked back to his truck after renting the apartment. 

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! Ma’am,” the young guy stutters out. 

“Please, we’re just Dani and Frank.” She must be looking expectantly at the guy, because he ducks his head and quietly mumbles out his name. 

“Dave, ma—Dani. Nice to see you again.” The guy smiles nervously up at Frank before hurrying down the stairs, and he turns to say something to her but she’s already taken off. Frank doesn’t catch up to her until he’s in their new apartment with the front door closed behind him, and he slowly walks around where she’s standing. 

She’s standing in the living room, in front of the couch, with her arms wrapped tight around her middle. She’s bent over a little, and Frank can tell that she’s breathing heavily by the way her shoulders move. Up and down, faster and faster. Her face is all twisted up, like someone’s got a knife buried in her stomach, but she isn’t crying. Her eyes are clenched shut as she tries to slow down her breathing, Frank can see her lips moving as she tries to count, and he sits down on the couch to watch her. 

“You alright?” he asks as her breathing gradually slows. Her eyes open, but she stays in the same hunched over position. 

“He touched me,” she says from between clenched teeth. So this is what it looks like when someone touches her. All day, she was careful to stick close to him because most people gave him a wide enough berth. He paid for everything so she never had to worry about touching cashiers, and he noticed the way her body carefully shifted as she walked through crowds so that no one would accidentally touch her bare skin. 

“Razor blades?” Her fingers slowly unclench from her sides as she straightens up, and she takes in a long inhale through her nose before breathing out through her mouth. 

“Needles. Tiny little needles digging in deep.” She shakes her arms out after the statement, as if she can actually shake the feeling away, and then cracks her neck to get rid of the built-up tension. “Now! Enough about my weirdness. What’s the plan for tonight?”

“We’re gonna blow up a warehouse.” Her face doesn’t change, not even a flinch or a flicker. 

“That’s it?” Oh, now she looks unimpressed. 

“With Eddie Gnucci and whoever shows up for tonight’s drug deal inside.” Her eyes widen as her mouth parts in surprise, and she lets out a quiet _oh_. 

“That sounds like it has the potential to go very bad, very fast. Just sayin’.” Her fists are propped on her hips as she looks down at him, and the look in her eyes is off. For just a moment, he can see how old she is. She looks young, looks barely twenty, but her eyes are old. Why didn’t he notice that sooner?

“You in or out, princess?” he asks as she just keeps staring at him. She smiles at him, with her fists still propped on her hips like she’s miming some kind of goddamn cartoon superhero, and he can feel tension coiling in his arms as he waits for her to say something. 

“I’m in. Can’t let you die on your first Miami mission, can I? Let’s suit up!” she cheers and stalks off towards the bedroom.

**.xXx.**

“I thought being a vigilante would be fun. This is boring,” Dani mutters. Frank doesn’t say anything next to her, but she’s got a feeling that he’s making some kind of disapproving face. Mostly because she can feel the annoyance coming off of him in waves. Oh yeah, no one annoys people like Dani Montgomery!

“What? You wanna go in with guns blazing?” Frank asks after a moment. They’re sitting in the truck, parked a good ways away from the warehouse but with some visibility, and Dani sighs as she stretches in the passenger seat. 

“I dunno, maybe? There were a lot of guns’-a-blazin’ in Hell’s Kitchen,” she points out. They watched Eddie Gnucci and a few other unsavory looking characters walk into the warehouse about two hours ago, and a few others have trickled in since then. How long do drug deals take anyway?

“Patience.” Frank never says her name. She calls him Castle out loud, but she thinks of him as Frank. She has ever since that night in the graveyard, but Frank never calls her anything. He called her Dani when he woke her up, she’s got a hazy memory of that, but that’s it. She can’t remember him ever calling her _anything_. Besides princess, of course, but she’s sure he only uses that name because he knows she hates it. 

“I’m patient,” she huffs and sits forward in her seat a little. The warehouse looks quiet. She’d probably think it was vacant if she hadn’t watched people walk inside of it with her own two eyes. “So what do we do next?”

“I blow up the warehouse, and you watch.” Well, that sounds completely unfair. She doesn’t get to do anything?

She was wrong about not getting to do anything. While Frank creeps around the warehouse and sets up his little homemade bombs, she gets to be the lookout. Which means that she stands next to the warehouse with her arms crossed and grumbles under her breath as Frank does his thing. He probably only told her to be the lookout to keep her quiet, but it’s better than waiting in the truck. She’s rocking back and forth on her heels when voices start to reach her, but the voices aren’t coming from inside. They’re coming from somewhere farther down the block, because this area is lined with warehouses. Lined with metal and concrete and quiet…until now. 

“Yo, Castle! We got company!” she whispers as loudly as she dares. The voices she can hear are farther out, but there’s still people inside the warehouse right next to her. 

“You wanna try not announcin’ my presence to the whole goddamn state?” Frank grumbles as he walks up behind her. 

“Any chance those bombs aren’t going to go off in the next couple of minutes?” she asks as she cocks her head to the side. The voices are more distinct now, and she can pick up words. Sentences strung together. 

“Why?” he asks as he walks around her. 

“One of Eddie’s competitors is headed this way. He’ll probably be happy about Eddie getting blown to high heaven, but I don’t think him and his friends are going to be happy to see you.” Frank’s eyes narrow down at her before cutting to the left, where the group of men are coming from, and Dani locks her jaw. 

“Can we make it to the truck without them seeing us?” he asks. _We_. Dani could make it. She could push strength into her legs and make it there in seconds, but Frank? Frank’s only human. He’d never make it.

“Nope. So…guns blazing?” Frank looks almost disappointed as he looks down at her, but she can see his mind working behind his dark eyes. 

“How many?” All of the emotions are blurring together, so are the voices and echoing footsteps, so it’s hard to get an accurate count. 

“Fifteen? Maybe more. Some of them are excited, nearly giddy. Some of the others are worried, scared. They’re definitely planning something,” she answers and looks up at him. She’s sure that she’ll survive whatever is about to happen, no matter what Frank decides, so she’s curious about how he’s going to proceed. 

“This place is going up in less than a minute. We’ll have to run.” This warehouse is at the end of the line, next to water, so the only place to run is either towards the truck or towards the (probably heavily armed) men. If they run towards the truck, they’ll be left exposed in the open. She’ll be fine…Frank probably won’t be. 

“After you,” she says and holds an arm out. Frank is the strategic one. Her only goal is to keep him alive. 

Frank looks down at her for a second, maybe not even that long, but she can’t read the look in his eyes. She can barely even feel his emotions. Everything is buried under layers of calm and rage, which is an odd combination that she’s not used to, and then Frank takes off. It takes her a moment to start running after him, but she catches up to him easily despite their differences in height. She grins over at him as she catches up, and that’s about the time that the warehouse behind them explodes. Heat pushes at her back as the ground shakes under her feet, and she stumbles a little and notes that Frank never wavers. It’s impressive. 

“Hey!”

“Turn!” Frank barks at her. They hook a hard right and disappear between two warehouses, but Dani can hear the men running after them now. Honestly? A building explodes and they come chasing after them? Wouldn’t the smart thing be to retreat? Do criminals ever think at all?

Dani’s running next to Frank, and she looks next to her as Frank fires over his shoulder. She hears it when the first man chasing them hits the ground, quickly followed by two more, and then they turn another corner. Frank grabs her as they’re still running, gun stowed back under his jacket so that both hands can grip her hips, and she yelps a little as she’s thrown into the air. She knows what Frank is aiming for though, because her hands instinctually reach up to grab the ladder attached to the side of a warehouse. She quickly pulls herself up and looks down to see Frank right behind her, and they both quickly scurry up the ladder just as some of the men turn a corner and spot them. 

The first shot is fired just as Frank heaves himself over the edge, missing him completely, and Dani can’t help her smile as Frank gets to his feet and glares at her. That’s not fair. He’s not really glaring at her. That’s just his face, in this moment, in this situation. She’s still grinning as she hears the ladder rattling, which means that someone is coming up towards them. It won’t take them long. Frank and Dani both stumble across the width of the roof until they’re on the other side, and Dani looks over her shoulder. She can see the truck, but it’s just a tiny dot from where they’re standing. 

“Do you trust me?”

“You stalked me.” His tone isn’t accusatory, so Dani doesn’t take offense. She shouldn’t have asked him that anyway. There’s a good chance that Frank will never trust anyone, ever again, and she gets that. She really does. 

“Fair point. Sorry in advance.” His look turns slightly curious at her words, and she presses one hand against his chest and gives a firm push. Dark eyes widen as he tips over the edge of the roof, and she reaches out to grab his wrist before following him over. Her free hand grabs the edge of the roof before they can plummet to the ground, and she looks down at Frank as she hears footsteps against the rooftop. He looks pissed, she can feel even more anger than usual, but she doesn’t feel any pain from where her bare hand is gripping his bare wrist. She looks back up as more footsteps sound on the rooftop, and she can hear the men yelling as they look for them. As they look for her and Frank. 

“Find them!” One of the voices is louder than the others, but they’re all yelling at each other. Very disorganized, in Dani’s opinion. 

“For the record! I said this was a bad idea!” Dani yells as she tightens her grip around Frank’s wrist. It’s the same one she bruised when he woke her up, and she’s trying to be careful and not accidentally break any bones. 

“You want a gold star, princess?!” Frank yells up at her. Her other hand is gripping the edge of the building, fingers starting to crack the concrete, and she can hear footsteps pounding across the roof and getting closer to where she’s hanging and holding Frank up. 

“You’re not gonna like this!” She looks down as Frank scowls up at her, and she grins as she releases her hold on the roof’s edge. 

It’s not easy, but she manages to pull Frank up as they fall downwards. She gets an arm locked around his back and another one behind his knees, and she tightens the hold right before her feet hit the ground. Since she didn’t bend her knees or roll into the fall, the smaller bones in her feet and her fibulas break as she lands. Maybe her right tibia too. She grits her teeth as the bones quickly heal and then she immediately takes off running, with Frank still held in her arms. 

“Put me down!” he yells as she forces her legs to go as fast as they can. 

“I’m a faster runner!” she replies and just keeps going. She can feel the heat of Frank’s glare, but she can’t slow down now. There’s gunfire popping behind her, thankfully nowhere close to her, and she knows her feet are cracking the concrete in some places as she runs because she’s not really restraining herself at the moment. 

It takes a minute, maybe less, for her to reach the truck. Her feet slide as she tries to come to a stop, and she twists around so that her back hits just behind the driver door and listens as the truck groans as it rocks against the force. The thing doesn’t tip over though, which is good enough for her. She has the driver door opened and Frank pushed into the driver’s seat in record time, and she grips the lining of the bed of the truck so that she can force herself into the air and vault over the truck. Then she’s opening the passenger door and jumping into her seat, and Frank already has the truck in drive and is pulling off by the time she slams the door shut. 

Dani falls back against the seat with a sigh as she stretches her legs out in front of her, and she can still feel a slight ache in her legs as she starts laughing. She knows that Frank keeps looking over at her, can feel the weight of his eyes as she laughs like a lunatic, but she doesn’t care. Frank feels like he always does. A confusing mixture of calm, anger, and a little bit of emptiness. She can feel that, can feel him, but she can also feel herself. What they just did, the being shot at and running, that was _exhilarating_. In the most terrifying way imaginable, but still. Dani’s wild laughter has died down into occasional giggles by the time she rolls her head against the seat to look at Frank, and he glances at her before focusing on the road again. 

“You been holdin’ out on me.” He still doesn’t sound accusatory, so she still doesn’t take offense. 

“I told you I was above average.”

“You said you were no Captain America. I don’t think he could’ve pulled off what you just did.” Dani shrugs, because maybe she held back a little. It’s hard to explain her abilities and make them sound believable, and it’s hard to demonstrate. 

“I might have down played myself a bit. I don’t like to brag,” she shrugs. Frank doesn’t ask her any questions. Doesn’t ask her just how much she really can do, and she appreciates that. She openly admitted to using him, but Frank doesn’t _want_ to use her for her abilities. If anything, that just makes her respect him even more. That respect doesn’t stop her from teasing him a little though. “I straight up damsel’d you. How’d it feel?”

“You what?” he asks and looks away from the road to glance at her for a second. 

“I damsel’d you. Held you all bridal style and carried you in my arms. I’m totally a knight in shining armor!” she declares and grins over at him. It’s hard to tell, the emotion is buried down so deep, but she thinks that Frank is a little amused by her. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, princess.”

**.xXx.**

“Since I am tonight’s hero, I’m claiming the first shower. Because I feel gross and sweaty after heroically saving our lives,” she announces after the front door closes behind them. Frank stays by the door as he watches her walk into the bedroom on her toes, and she’s humming and still walking with a skip in her step as she walks back out with clothes held in her arms. She winks at him before disappearing into the bathroom, and Frank walks over to the couch on heavy legs.

_“You’re not gonna like this!”_

He watched her shoot herself in the head and saw the way that she healed instantly, but he didn’t know how much her body could take. Could she only handle one fatal shot at a time? Did she heal based off the chronology of wounds or the severity? He hadn’t known how much she could take, so he couldn’t chance it. So instead of facing down the unexpected gang, he ran. He threw her onto the ladder first, because he wasn’t going to have her death on his hands. So he let her go first and then he climbed up after her, and he’d felt trapped on that roof. If he’d been alone, he knew exactly what to do. He hadn’t been alone though. He’d had to think about her.

She pushed him off a fucking roof. Pushed him and caught him all in one move, and she easily held them both up with just one arm. Grinned at him before letting go, because she knew she’d be able to catch them. He saw her face when they hit the ground, saw the brief flash of pain before she took off running. Heard the concrete under her feet cracking as she ran faster than any human was capable of, and there’s dents in his truck from her. From her body smashing into the driver’s side because she couldn’t stop herself from running in time. From her hand gripping the side of the truck so that she could toss her body over the side of it. 

She is strong. Possibly stronger than he truly understands. He worried about her, all night, for no reason. She is stronger than him, he knows that much for sure. Her strength is tempting, but he won’t ask her to help him. She’s not a killer, and he respects that. Rule number three. They don’t try to change each other. If she keeps insisting on tagging along with him though, he doesn’t have to worry about her. Not like he did tonight. All the other shit he might not understand, but he understands that. He doesn’t have to worry about her. She can take care of herself. He’ll be damned if he lets her carry him off like that again though. 

“Ooh, someone’s thinkin’ mighty hard. That looks like it hurts, Castle.”

“You gotta stop callin’ me that,” he says before even registering her presence in front of him. She’s wearing pants and a tee shirt, not a sweatshirt, and wet hair is clinging to her cheeks and neck. 

“What? Your name?” she asks and tilts her head to the side. 

“That ain’t my name here, so you gotta stop using it. Just call me Frank.” His first name is common and they’re a long way from Hell’s Kitchen. No one should give Frank a second look. If someone happens to hear his first and last name in quick succession, he might get more than just a second look. 

“Okay, Frank.” She says his name slowly, drawls it out as she sits down on the couch next to him, and she pulls her legs up to cross them under her. “So, Frank, since I saved your life tonight, can I ask you for a favor?”

He starts to point out that he would have been just fine tonight, but he stops himself. Because he’s turned to look at her and can see the nervous look in her eyes. He’s not an empath, but he’s pretty damned good at reading people. She’s tapping her fingers against her knees, restlessly, and he can tell that she’s chewing on the inside of her lip. Can tell by the way her jaw is working and the way her bottom lip is pulled inwards. She’s nervous, so Frank holds back the sarcastic comment. Maybe he would have been just fine on his own, but she did step up and carry his ass out of there. He understands some of what she can do now. He can hear her out.

“What?” he asks as her eyes dance all across his face. 

“Can I…just for a minute?” Her hand hovers in the empty space between them, and what she’s asking clicks instantly. It’s been thirty years since someone touched her, without violence or ill intent, until him. He doesn’t understand why he’s different, and he’s not going to waste time wondering about it. 

“One minute,” he says and points a finger right at her face. Color blooms in her pale cheeks as she smiles, a real smile, and her pale eyes look a little brighter as he just holds his hand out. Her fingers are shaking when they slip across his knuckles and then slot between his, and he twists his bruised wrist so that their palms brush. She sighs as she falls back against the couch and her eyes fall closed, but he keeps looking at their hands. 

His hands are bigger, darker, bruised and scarred. Her fingers are slim, pale, soft and smooth. He’s holding her left hand, but she’s not wearing the cheap wedding ring. Did she plan for this and take it off beforehand? The shaking in her hand dies down after a few seconds, and Frank makes a point of not looking at the tears that drip off her chin. He has his own shit. The emptiness and the anger, the guilt and the determination. That doesn’t mean he understands what she’s been through. They survived completely different wars. 

“Thank you, Frank.” Her one minute was closer to three, and she’s the one that pulls away. Gently untangles their fingers and lets the rough skin of his palm slide against her softness before returning her hand to her lap. When he looks over, her eyes are still closed and there’s fresh tear tracks on her cheeks. 

“I ain’t a good guy. You get that?” he asks her. Her eyes slowly open, and new tears slip over her cheeks and fall off her chin. 

“Who said you’re not a good guy? I’mma go punch them. Softly. Because of my no killing philosophy,” she says and smiles. It’s a trembling smile, but she actually means the words. “My definition of good is a bit different than most people. You kill people. So what? You only kill the ones that the world is better off without. In the days of old, they’d have revered you. Built statues in your honor. Sang songs about you.”

She stops talking as he laughs, and he can still see her despite the way his eyes crinkle up. He’s not laughing loudly or wildly like she does, but there’s a few deep chuckles from somewhere deep in his belly. Her smile firms a little as he laughs, and she reaches up to brush at her cheeks with her fingertips as he shakes his head. She’s still smiling as he stops laughing and just looks at her, and she looks so ordinary. But he knows better. 

“You gonna write me a song?”

“Mhmm. Write it, record it, put it on a mixtape, and play it on a boombox under your window.”

“Wrong decade, princess.”

“I do get confused in my old age sometimes.”

He keeps thinking of her as someone younger, weaker, because of the way she looks. He looks at her and sees someone that should be protected, but she’s older and stronger than him. She can take care of herself. He doesn’t have to protect her, except for maybe from herself. He glances at the couch, sees the quilt folded over the back of it, but doesn’t see her ridiculously colored pillow. She must have stashed it somewhere while he was taking a shower this morn—afternoon. 

“Why don’t you take the bed tonight?” he asks and glances in the direction of the bedroom. 

“Because me and this couch are going steady, and we would like to be alone now. Take a hike, Frank.” He could argue with her, he might even win, but it’d be a waste of time. So he just shakes his head and forces himself to his feet. She stays still as he walks around the couch, and he stops right behind her. He holds one hand out and then stops, and he watches the way that his trigger finger twitches. After another second, he drops his hand onto the top of her head and ruffles her wet hair. 

“Night.” 

“Goodnight.” He barely hears her as he opens the bedroom door, but she’d raised her voice just loud enough for him to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before I talk about anything story-relevant, can you please picture tiny little Dani (who looks like Ashley Benson in my mind) running away from explosions and gunfire while carrying Frank Castle (Jon Bernthal) bridal style? Because I’ve had that image stuck in my head pretty much since the beginning of this story, and I just love that visual so much. 
> 
> Moving on! There was some actual action in this chapter! So, as you can see, there is an actual plot to this story. Frank is on a mission, and Dani’s there to tag along. I’m not sure what they’re going to do with the Netflix Punisher series, so this story will probably be completely AU. I’m not going to give up on it though, because I love writing for Frank and Dani. I feel like they complement each other. Writing their dynamics is fun for me and hopefully fun for you to read!


	6. Rule Number Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have updated this sooner, but I decided to wait until after I’d watched _The Punisher Series_ on Netflix. (We are not going to talk about how much I cried while watching it.) I loved the show, it jumped to the top of my favorite Marvel Netflix Series, but you don’t have to worry about spoilers for the show in this story. If I do decide to write Dani into the universe of that show, it’ll be in a sequel or something. 
> 
> Moving on! I do have a solid plan for this story, I’ve got an outline anyway, but I’d love to hear reader’s thoughts! Let me know if there’s anything that you want to see or anything that you want explained. I’m open to any and all suggestions.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/SUGAR/SugarChap06_zps7jhvwsi9.jpg.html)

**DAY 6**

Dani wakes up to the sound of the front door closing, and it takes her a moment of wiggling around to get her quilt off of her head. Once she can see clearly, she does a quick scan of the living room. Frank’s standing in front of the couch and just looking down at her, and she can feel her face scrunching up as she looks up at him. He feels…calm, rage, _determination_. He’s holding a bag in one hand that smells like dough and deli meat, and he’s already dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. Her biggest clue that he’s been out of their apartment isn’t the bag or his clothes though. He’s wearing that damn baseball hat again, the one that hides his face.

“Morning?” She’d meant it as a greeting, but the single word comes out as a question instead. Frank reaches up to take the hat off and tucks it into his back pocket, and Dani frees one of her arms so that she can wipe the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Afternoon. I got hoagies,” he says and raises the bag. Hoagies for breakfast? Well, she’s eaten worse for breakfast. Like bitter berries. Hoagies are definitely an improvement over eating off the land. 

“I need coffee.” She’s gotten used to drinking Frank’s too strong coffee, even though they’ve only been together for a few days, and Frank just looks down at her for a moment longer before walking around the couch. 

The coffee pot gurgles to life, and Dani takes that as her cue to get up. She starts to roll off the couch and manages to get her feet on the floor, and her palms take the brunt of her weight as she pushes herself into a vertical position. She takes a moment to shake her muscles out once she’s standing, and her head tips to the side as she watches Frank putter around the kitchen area. He’s actually setting out plates for them to eat the hoagies off of, and he’s already put out their usual coffee mugs. Since he’s got all of that under control, Dani starts making up the couch. The quilt is carefully folded and then placed over the back of the couch, and she decides to leave the sheet and her pillow. If anyone happens to come into their apartment and gives the couch a weird look, she’ll tell them that she likes to cuddle with Frank on the couch and uses the pillow for extra support. Or something like that. Normal married couples cuddle on the couch, right?

“Do we have plans for tonight?” she asks and props her fists on her hips. She took a shower the night before so she feels clean enough, but she’ll need to change out of her pajamas if they’re planning on leaving the apartment. 

“We do,” is Frank’s simple answer. That’s fine. She’ll annoy the details out of him while they eat. For now, she’s going to go change. 

The bedroom barely even looks lived in. The bed’s been perfectly made, the lamp is turned off, and there’s no evidence that someone has been sleeping in the room. Not that it matters, because no one is ever going to see the bedroom while they’re staying here. So she moves over to the only dresser in the room and opens the top drawer on the left side. It’s summer in Miami, so she pulls out a pair of black shorts and a white tee shirt. The shirt says **GIRL POWER** in bold red letters, and she gets a kick out of it. She finds a pair of bright red socks in the next drawer down, along with a white bra, and she quickly strips out of her pajamas. Everything goes on easily enough, and she glances down at herself. The shorts are a little loose on her hips but aren’t in danger of falling off, and the shirt billows around her torso a little too much. Huh, maybe Frank’s right. Maybe she does need to eat a little more. 

It’s not like she meant to lose so much weight. She’s not even sure when she lost the weight. Being so numb and empty inside, it messes with her head. Makes her forget things. After she stopped feeling her own emotions, she stopped feeling most physical sensations as well. Except for pain. (She can always feel pain.) The gnawing of hunger faded along with her ability to feel happy or sad, and she spent her years in various cities in a daze. She only cut her hair because she kept forgetting to brush it, and she had to literally cut the tangles out. So she presses her fingers against the cuts of her hipbones and then smooths her hands up her sides, and she can feel the hard press of bone of her ribs through the thin cotton of her tee shirt. 

“You fall asleep standing up, princess?” Frank’s voice is a shock, even though he keeps his tone low, and she quickly drops her hands as heat floods into her cheeks. She’s…ashamed. She’s ashamed that she’s let herself become this unhealthy, and her eyes dart over towards the doorway. “Hoagies’re waitin’ on ya. Hurry up.”

“Just gotta get my shoes on,” she mumbles. Frank doesn’t say anything else. She sees him nod once out of the corner of her eye and then he’s gone, and she looks down at the red socks clutched in her hand. There’s no point in dwelling on the state of her body. She’ll just have to pay more attention. She’ll have to take better care of herself. 

Her old dirty white sneakers are lined up next to the dresser, and she snags them before taking a few steps back to sit on the bed. She slides her socks on first, wiggles her toes a bit, and then tugs the shoes on. Standing up takes her a moment, and she twists her upper body to look at the bed. There’s some obvious wrinkles where she’d been sitting, and she turns fully to smooth the blanket out. After the bed is back in pristine condition, she makes her way out of the bedroom. 

Frank’s already sitting at the kitchen table, and the table is set. There’s a plate in front of Frank and another plate in front of her seat across from him, and there’s a wrapped hoagie on each of the plates. Frank’s large coffee thermos is sitting next to his plate, and the giant mug that Dani is starting to think of as hers is next to her plate. Next to her mug is the sugar bowl, there’s even a spoon already in the bowl, and she feels something warm in the pit of her stomach. Despite the table being all decked out though, Frank isn’t eating. Instead he’s cleaning one of his many guns, and she grips the back of her chair and just watches the almost graceful movements of his hands as he tends to his weapon. 

“Anyone ever tell you that starin’ like that is rude?” He doesn’t look up from the gun as he asks it, and Dani lowers herself down into her chair with a small smile. 

“You know, I’ve never really liked guns,” she says as she starts scooping out sugar. Dropping in that first spoonful is always satisfying, and she bites at the inside of her bottom lip as she carefully measures out a few more spoonfuls.

“Why’s that?” She looks up after dropping in her fifth scoop of sugar, and she watches Frank put the gun back together as she stirs the sugar into the coffee and thinks of how to answer. 

“They’re always so loud, and it just seems so…impersonal.” Frank actually pauses at that and looks up to meet her eyes, and Dani holds the look as she does a quick taste test. 

“Impersonal?” Her cup o’ sugar has just the right amount of coffee flavor, so she smacks her lips and carefully places the mug back onto the table. Carefully, because she’s still convinced that the table’s going to collapse at some point. 

“Yeah. It’s like…Okay, you’re standing here.” She moves her mug to the far right of the table, right to the edge, and taps the rim. Then she grabs the sugar bowl and pushes it to the far left and leaves her fingers pressed against the top of it. “And your target is all the way over here. Right?”

“Make your point,” Frank says after looking between the two points. 

“You pull the trigger here.” Taps against her mug. “And someone dies all the way over here.” Taps against the sugar bowl. “There’s no interaction, no understanding of what’s coming, it’s just a whole lotta nothing.”

“So the better way to take out the target is?” Dani takes her time moving her mug and the sugar bowl back to their original positions, and she feels shame burning in her gut again. In some ways, she never really had a choice. (There was a choice though, and she chose to keep living.)

“I always killed with my hands. Up close and personal.” She holds her hands up, palms facing outward, and her hands don’t look like they’re capable of taking lives. Pale skin, thin fingers…she’s not tall, and her small hands fit her small size. As she’s watching, her right hand begins to shake just a little. Small twitches of her fingers, nothing too noticeable, but she presses her left palm flat against the table and curls her right hand into a tight fist. 

“Pulling the trigger ain’t nothing. Not for the person pulling it.” Frank’s hand easily engulfs her small fist, and Dani still marvels at the way his touch doesn’t hurt. It’s just a slide of skin against skin, a little rough because Frank doesn’t heal like she does and has rough calluses, but all she feels is the light touch and the warmth. No pain. 

“Is it easier than touching them when they die? Do you know what people feel like when they’re dead? All of the fear, anger, desperation…it just disappears. Not slowly, or gradually. It’s all there, until it suddenly isn’t. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt.” Dani looks away from their joined hands and across the table at Frank, and she thinks she can see understanding in Frank’s eyes. She’s not refusing to kill based on any kind of moral code. If that was the case, she wouldn’t be okay with Frank’s new mission in life. She refuses to kill because she never wants to be the cause of that…that, _nothingness_ , ever again. 

“You wanna sit this one out tonight?” Under Frank’s usual calm and rage, she can feel a small tendril of concern. For her. That’s sweet of him, but it’s not necessary. She might not want to kill ever again, but violence doesn’t really bother her. (Plus, she’d never forgive herself if she was sitting at the apartment while Frank went out and got himself killed.)

“Sorry, Frank, but you’re stuck with me. So what are we doing tonight?” He’s still holding onto her hand, and she tips her lips up into a smile as she leans forward and lowers her voice. “Are we blowing up another building?”

“We’re going to the morgue.” Frank lets her hand ago after he says it, and Dani leans back in her chair and places her hands into her lap. A morgue? She thought Frank’s thing was putting people _in_ the morgue, so why do they have to go visit one? Aren’t the people there already dead? “Now eat your hoagie and drink your sugar before it gets cold.”

“You’re kinda bossy.” She says it even as she reaches for the wrapped hoagie on the plate in front of her, and Frank just gives her a look to let her know that he’s not amused by her statement. She shrugs it off and digs into her breakfast, lunch if she takes the time of day into account, and tries to think of a good reason for The Punisher to go to a morgue. Before killing someone, that is. When she keeps coming up blank, she decides to wait until that night to find out and focuses instead on eating.

**.xXx.**

“I just want you to explain the plan to me one more time.” They’re sitting in the cab of Frank’s truck, across the street from the morgue but with a clear view of the back entrance, and Frank darts his eyes over to look at his passenger before focusing back on the task at hand.

“We wait to see if any of Eddie’s lowlife relatives show up. If they do, I take care of them. What about that is hard to understand?” He can hear her shifting in her seat, because she’s still just wearing shorts and a tee shirt that causes her bare skin to squeak against the leather of the seat, and her fingers tap out a rhythm against the dashboard. 

“Nothing, it’s just…I thought you’d have a more solid plan. Not just a wait-and-see strategy,” she huffs. He can see her out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard not to. She stands out in the darkness with her pale skin, white shirt, and light blonde hair. It’s almost like sitting next to a neon sign. 

“Not glamourous enough for you, princess?” 

She’s never what he expects. Earlier, before they ate, he’d watched as parts of her started to slip through the cracks. Felt her hand shaking in his as she thought about the people she’d killed. He doesn’t know what it’s like for her. Doesn’t know what it’s like to feel another person’s emotions as they die, until they’re gone. What he does know is that remembering it dims the light in her eyes and makes her hands shake. Now she seems almost disappointed that he doesn’t have a plan to immediately take someone out, but then he also knows that other people killing doesn’t bother her. She’s already seen him kill and didn’t even bat an eye. So he never really knows how she’s going to react to something. 

Instead of answering him, she just sighs and leans back in the seat. Waiting. She keeps quiet as he scans the streets, and she starts humming after a couple of minutes. It’s not a song or a melody that he recognizes, but it’s slow and isn’t distracting so he doesn’t ask her to stop. He even catches his thumb tapping against the steering wheel along with the lazy rhythm, and he thinks he can see the edge of a smile but doesn’t turn enough to make sure. The hum shifts into something a little faster as a group of men approach the back of the morgue, and it sounds close to the Mission Impossible theme. 

One of the men breaks away from the group and walks ahead, and the back door of the morgue opens. The man in front has a few words with the morgue worker, and his eyes track the movement of money exchanging hands. The morgue worker steps outside and holds the door open, and the group of men walk inside. Once they’re all inside, the morgue worker leans down and places something on the ground to keep the door from closing completely and then pulls out a pack of smokes. It’s dark and the distance is substantial, but he recognizes the first man who’d walked into the morgue. 

“Is it go time?” she asks as Frank does a quick check of his weapons. He knows that she doesn’t have any kind of weapon, but she doesn’t really need any either. 

“Just stay behind me,” he tells her and then opens the driver door. She slips out of the passenger side and silently follows behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at her before they cross the street. “The worker’s gotta be knocked out. I’m just going to hit him really hard in the head, unless you’ve got a better way of doing it.”

“I could try making him feel really exhausted? I don’t know if it’d put him to sleep though, or for how long if it did work.” He looks over his shoulder at her again, and she raises one slim brow at him. “What? It’s not like I make a habit of manipulating how people feel. That would be wrong, Frank.”

“I’m just gonna hit him then,” he decides and starts to make his way around the building. They’re close to the worker when she suddenly steps up next to him and then a little in front of him, and he looks down at the top of her head as she gets directly in front of him. 

“Excuse me!” The morgue worker, who’d been facing in the opposite direction as he smoked, turns around at the sound of her voice. Frank can see his eyes widening just a little as he realizes that a woman is hurrying towards him, and he can feel his jaw clenching as the man obviously looks her up and down. “We got a little turned around and can’t remember where our hotel is. Do you think you can help us?”

“Which hotel?” The man is eying the pale length of her legs as she steps up into his space, and he’s still smiling when her body suddenly twists as she throws out a punch. The hit connects with his temple, and Frank stops walking as he watches the man crumble. He drops to the ground in an unconscious heap, and she looks almost annoyed when she turns around to meet Frank’s eyes. 

“Did you see that asshole checking me out? He wasn’t even trying to be subtle!” She keeps her angry tone quiet, but he can tell that she wants to yell the words.

“Why’d you hit him?” Frank asks instead of answering her. Her head tilts to the side, which causes some of her short hair to brush against her shoulder, and she shrugs. 

“Didn’t want you have all the fun. I’ll totally stay behind you moving forward though.” She gestures at the propped open door, and Frank moves around her so that he can open the door and step inside the morgue. 

They pause just inside the morgue, she makes sure that the door stays propped open, and he can hear voices coming from somewhere deeper inside the building. They’re not trying to be quiet, and they’re so loud that Frank’s footsteps can’t be heard. He can’t even hear her walking behind him, but he can feel her sticking close to his back as they wind their way down the few hallways. They make a right, and Frank can see light coming out of a cracked open door at the end of the hallway. Voices are drifting out of the room, loud and angry, and he hears her suck in a quiet breath as they slowly start down the hallway. 

“Just out of curiosity.” He looks over his shoulder at her pause, and she glances up at him. “Who are you killing exactly?”

“Bobbie Gnucci. Eddie’s brother.” He sees her nod and she doesn’t question why the guy has to die, and he doesn’t owe her an explanation. So he doesn’t know why he keeps speaking. “He’s been questioned several times in sexual assault cases, but the cops can’t ever get anything to stick.”

“Sexual assault?” They’re almost to the room now, so they need to keep quiet, but he answers her anyway. 

“Date rape. Drugs ‘em and gets away with it.” He stops outside of the cracked open door, and he thinks he imagines her touching him. He’s wearing a thick jacket over a tee shirt and a bulletproof vest, but he thinks he can feel a slight pressure against the center of his back. Like she’s pressing her hand against the spot as she stands behind him. 

“Well, he’s not getting away with it ever again.” She sounds completely serious, not even a little hesitant or unsure about him planning to kill a man, and her eyes have a little bit of a shine to them when he looks over at her. “Now, remember to have fun out there. Just because it’s work doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

“You’re staying in the truck next time.” Her smile is wide and bright, and he rolls his eyes as he turns back around and then steps up to the door. For the first time, he starts to pay attention to what’s being yelled inside of the room. Going by the quiet amused snort behind him, she’s listening for the first time too. 

“If some asshole thinks he can come into our city and kill my brother! He’s got another fucking thing coming! We are going to find this motherfucker! And show him that you do not fuck with the Gnucci family!” Bobbie Gnucci, he assumes, yells. 

“I think that’s your cue, Frank,” she whispers behind him. He prefers stealth, but he can make an exception and make an entrance just this once.

One hand presses against the door and easily pushes it open, and he walks into the room where Eddie Gnucci’s burned corpse is lying on a table with a sheet mostly covering him up. The man he recognizes as Bobbie Gnucci is standing at the head of the table, and Frank’s eyes do a quick scan of the room. There’s eight other men in the room, four on each side of the table, and they’re all carrying. Bobbie might be full of hot air and some rich pampered asshole, but at least half of his men hold themselves like they’ve had military training. He’ll have to handle this carefully, and he eyes the men that can cause the biggest problems. 

“You lost, asshole?” Bobbie asks. He resembles Eddie. The same thinning brown hair and dark eyes, but Bobbie’s more heavyset. 

“Heard you were looking for me,” Frank says and looks around the room again. His first assessment still seems to hold, so he looks back at Bobbie and watches as understanding dawns across his features. Red floods the man’s cheeks as a vein in the center of his forehead starts to bulge, and Franks holds himself steady as he waits. When Bobbie just continues to glare at him and starts to shake in anger, Frank looks pointedly down at Eddie’s body. “Can’t believe you found his body. Not with how much explosives I used.”

“Kill that motherfucker!” 

He always hears people talk about how things slow down in a firefight, but that’s bullshit. Once he gets started, time starts to speed up. He’s learned how to trust his gut, his instincts and his training, and he moves without fully processing his thoughts. Just trusts his body to follow his impulses. He sees men drop as he shoots them, feels a few bullets connect with his vest, and hears more shots than what he feels connect. He’s focused on taking out Bobbie’s men, so he doesn’t track where the other shots are going. All he knows is that in a matter of minutes, there’s eight bodies on the floor and he’s got his boot on Bobbie’s neck as the man writhes around on the morgue floor. 

“Well, that was dramatic,” he hears her comment from behind him. It sounds like she’s standing in the doorway, like she never moved any farther into the room, so he turns his attention back to Bobbie. There’s a bleeding hole over one of his knees, and his face is turning purple from Frank’s boot crushing his windpipe. 

There’s things that he could say, in this moment. He could tell Bobbie that he’s about to die because he’s a disgusting waste of a human being. He could tell him that he’s dying in payment to all the women whose lives he’s ruined. Hell, he could even tell him that he’s just at the bottom of Frank’s list and that the rest of his family will be joining him and his brother in Hell real soon. There’s all kinds of things that Frank could say, reasons for why he’s killing Bobbie Gnucci, and each of those reasons runs through his mind as he watches spit froth on Bobbie’s lips as he struggles at pulling at Frank’s leg. In the end, Frank says nothing and puts a bullet between Bobbie’s eyes. 

Frank’s never really been a fan of speeches. 

“Good riddance,” she says as he removes his foot. A quick look around the room confirms that the other eight men are dead, and he finally looks at where she’s slumped against the doorway. 

Blood is streaked down her left leg, starting on her pale thigh and tracking all the way down to disappear into the bright red sock she’s wearing. There’s more dark stains spread all over her white tee shirt. Two over her stomach, right side, left shoulder. Blood is dripping down her arms from various starting points, like a little kid dipped their fingers in red paint and drug their hands all over her. She’s using the doorway to hold herself up, and he can see a hole in her right forearm closing up as she smiles at him. 

“The fuck happened to you?” She’s still smiling even as her brows draw down in confusion, and he steps around the bodies on the floor without paying them any attention as he moves closer to her. 

“I had your back, Frank,” is her simple answer. He thinks back over the firefight, remembers the dull hits of bullets against his vest, and hears more shots going off that never connected. He never saw her as he shot the men shooting at him, so she must have really stayed close to his back and managed to stay out of his way while taking most of the shots meant for him. 

_“Don’t ever do some stupid shit like that again!”_ The words are there, burning his throat, but she’s looking up at him with wide eyes and a proud smile on her face. 

On their second day together, after he got his intel and before he watched her shoot herself in the head, they had a quick conversation in the truck. She’d followed him when he told her to stay put, because he hadn’t known what she was capable of then. She told him that just because she wasn’t going to kill for him didn’t mean she was going to let him get killed, and he told her that he didn’t want anyone getting hurt for him. Her response had been that a few bullets wouldn’t hurt her, and she’d backed up that claim a moment later by taking his gun and shooting herself in the head. What’d he say before that? There’d been a quick exchange before she dove for the gun, and he hears the words as he continues to look down into her pale eyes. 

_“You’re not going to take a bullet for me.”_

_“We’ll see about that.”_

From the looks of it, she just took several bullets for him. He’s not sure if any of the shots she took would have killed him, but he knows that his vest isn’t a guarantee that a bullet won’t make it through and end him. Judging by the places where she’s been bleeding, some of the bullets would have hit him in vulnerable places. Arms and legs. If any of the shots had hit an artery or torn through the muscle, he would have been down. Possibly permanently. There’s no way to know for sure, but he thinks that she might have saved his life. 

“You’re mad at me, right? For not staying put.” She looks like she’s gearing up to pout, and Frank’s eyes track over all the blood staining her. He’s mad, _he’s severely fucking pissed off_ , but not at her. So he shakes his head and ignores the way that she’s suddenly glaring up at him. “I can feel even more rage than usual coming off of you. It’s okay if you’re mad. Just let it all out. Come on, I can take it.”

“I ain’t mad at you.” She still looks disbelieving, and he holsters the gun still in his hand on his hip. The holster is covered by his shirt, and he starts to take off the jacket he’s wearing. “I do want to kill all those assholes again though.”

“Aww, Frank, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she says as she stands upright. He’s holding his jacket in his hands now, and he looks down at the dark fabric. There’s a few ragged holes in the material, but it’s nothing obvious. Not as obvious as all the bloodstains on her pale skin. 

“Turn around and hold your arms out. We can’t go outside with you looking like that.” She glances down at herself as if she didn’t realize what she looked like before now, and her lips pull down as she makes a quiet _hmm_ sound. She does turn around for him though, and his eyes shut for a moment as he sees the back of her shirt. There’s barely any white showing through the darkening red stains. 

“You do realize that I’m going to look ridiculous in this, right?” she asks as he gets her arms into the sleeves. She rolls her shoulders with a quiet hiss as he pulls the jacket up, and he tucks the collar under her hair to make sure that her blood soaked shirt is completely covered up. When she turns around, he takes a quick look at her and then reaches down. “Whoa! What’re you doing?!”

“Zipping it,” he grunts and pulls the two sides of the jacket together. It takes a moment for his fingers to cooperate and slip the zipper into the tab, and he holds onto the bottom of the jacket as he pulls the zipper all the way up to her throat. She’s right, the jacket does look comically large on her small frame. The sleeves hang way down past her hands, and the bottom of the jacket even covers the entire length of her shorts. It also covers up all of the bloody evidence on her upper body. 

“I feel like I’m swimming in this thing,” she says and pinches a section of the jacket over her chest. She looks almost normal, except for the blood still showing on her left leg. He turns to look around the room, and he spots a roll of paper towels on a counter next to a large sink.

Frank has to step over two bodies to reach the counter, and he quickly pulls off a few sheets of paper towels. He folds them until he can get the square to fit in his hand, and the sink easily flicks on and sprays out a steady stream of water. He doesn’t get the paper towels too wet, that’ll just make them fall apart, and he flips the water off before walking back over to where she’s still standing and looking curiously at him. Without saying a word, he kneels down and starts moving the wet paper towels over the tacky blood drying on her leg. One of his hands cups behind her left knee to hold her leg steady while he scrubs at her skin, and he can feel her brace her hands on his shoulders as he holds her leg up to get the blood off of her shin.

“You good to walk?” He’s standing up after asking it, and he looks down at the floor. There’s blood everywhere, and how much of it belongs to her?

“Right as rain. And if you’re worrying about me leaving DNA evidence behind, don’t. The one good thing that those bastards did was erase my existence. The cops can run my DNA all they want. I don’t exist,” she shrugs. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving anything behind, but they’ve stuck around too long as it is. 

“Come on,” he decides. He steps around her and leads the way through the morgue, and he can hear her dirty sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as they hurry down the hallways. 

The back door is still propped open, and he can hear her muttering under her breath as she makes sure that the door stays propped open. The morgue worker is still lying unconscious on the ground, but he’s breathing steadily so Frank doesn’t worry about him. He moves around the building and scans the streets, but there isn’t any movement. They cross the street quickly and without talking, and they slide into the truck without any interruptions. He can hear her sigh as she relaxes back into her seat, and he quickly starts the truck and heads towards their apartment. 

The drive is quiet, except for her occasional humming, and Frank’s hands tighten around the steering wheel at irregular intervals. He knows that she can heal, that getting shot doesn’t mean anything to her, but he can’t shake the image of her standing in the morgue doorway covered in blood. All of that light buried under darkening blood. It ain’t right. Yeah, maybe she did save him, but he doesn’t like the thought of anyone taking shots meant for him. Doesn’t like the thought of her getting shot over and over just to save him. Is this going to be a regular thing? Is this why she wants to tag along? So she can _watch his back_ and take the bullets meant for him? Because that shit just ain’t gonna work for him, and the two of them are going to have a serious fucking talk about it as soon as they get back to the apartment.

**.xXx.**

Dani walks into the apartment first, and she smiles tiredly at the sight of the couch. She wants to collapse down onto it and bury her face in her bright yellow pillow, but she can’t do that yet. Mostly because she’s still covered in dry blood, and she doesn’t want to have to wash the sheet on the couch cushions or scrub blood out of any linens. She’s already going to have to throw her shirt away, and that’s not a happy thought because she _liked_ that shirt. She reaches up for the zipper on her jacket as the front door closes behind Frank, and her left shoulder throbs hotly as she shrugs the jacket off. So she wasn’t imagining things. This is going to be unpleasant.

“We gotta talk, princess,” Frank says behind her. Yeah, she had a feeling that was coming. Frank had been quiet on the drive back to the apartment, but that was the norm because Frank isn’t an overly chatty guy. His emotions had been all over the place though, and that wasn’t like him. Frank usually felt like a strange combination of calm and rage, a kind of muted fury, but his emotions had been sharper in the truck. Hotter anger, concern, confusion…his emotions kept spiking, and she’s sure it’s because of what she did at the morgue. 

“Can we do it while you dig a bullet out of my shoulder? I don’t think I can reach it.” She turns around to hand his jacket back to him, and he takes it while narrowing his eyes down at her. The pain is coming from under her left shoulder blade, and she can’t get to it on her own. Not without dislocating something, and she wants to avoid that. 

“Bathroom. Shirt off.” He’s keeping his statements short, terse, so he’s definitely pissed. Dani will just have to argue her point while Frank gets the bullet out. 

She flips the light on after walking into the bathroom, and she pauses as she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. The blood all over her is drying into a rusty brown color, and she looks like she rolled around in a giant blood puddle. And that’s an image she’s not going to be able to shake for a while. With a small shake of her head, she reaches down and pulls her ruined tee shirt off. She drops it into the trashcan next to the toilet, and she gets a washcloth from the metal shelf bolted onto the wall over the toilet. (Which is a poor interior design choice in her opinion, but whatever.)

When Frank fills up the bathroom doorway a minute later, she’s running the wet cloth over her arms. She remembers the blistering heat of the bullets ripping through skin and muscle, and there’s still a deep ache throughout her body. She’ll be fine in the morning though. After her arms are clean, she wrings the washcloth out in the sink and then starts mopping up her torso. The whole time she’s cleaning, Frank stays quiet and just watches her. It should be uncomfortable, but Frank’s never made her feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t even protested when he cleaned the blood off of her leg, even though she’s capable of cleaning herself. Obviously. 

“Do you mind getting my back?” she asks once her front is blood-free. She wants to take a shower, because her skin feels itchy despite being wiped clean, but Frank’s going to have to clean the blood off so he can get a good look at her shoulder. 

“Yeah, hand it over.” She turns the sink on again to wring out the washcloth as Frank steps into the bathroom, and he places something on the closed toilet lid before moving to stand directly behind her. Her eyes glance over to see a first-aid case, not a kit because it’s too big to be a kit, and she holds the washcloth over her right shoulder. 

Fingers curl around the sink as she braces her weight on her hands, and she bites down on the inside of her bottom lip as Frank starts moving the wet cloth against her skin. She took more shots in her back than in her front. Most of the blood on her stomach came from exit wounds actually, and the skin still feels tender even though she’s all healed up. Like the end stages of a bruise. She took too many hits at one time, but it’s better her than Frank. Bulletproof vests aren’t impenetrable, and she doesn’t mind aching for a night if it means that he’s still breathing. 

Frank saves cleaning off her left shoulder for last, and Dani’s jaw locks as he wipes the blood away. All of the other areas had just been tender, but her left shoulder hurts. Burns in a way that she’s not used to lasting for this long, and she has to hold herself steady when her body tries to buck away from the pain. Frank tosses the bloody rag into the sink when he’s done and then leans over to open the first-aid case, and Dani peeks at the contents. 

“Did you rob a hospital?” The question just sort of slips out of her, because those are some hardcore medical supplies.

“Picked up a few things here and there.” She’s taking that as a yes. It’s not like she’s going to judge him. Dani’s not a fan of stealing, per se, but she’s done her share of stealing to survive. So there’s no judgment coming from her.

“Just get this thing out of me so I can heal.” A part of her wants to slump against the sink, but she holds herself up instead. She doesn’t want to make this any harder for Frank to do. 

Frank’s left hand presses against her left shoulder, and she can feel his thumb pulling at the skin above where the bullet is. The bullet itself is lodged under the wing of her scapula, and the muscle and bone won’t heal until it’s removed. There’s always the possibility that her body will heal around the bullet, but the placement means that she’ll always be able to feel it. She’d rather not deal with that, and she trusts Frank to get the bullet out. Something tells her that he’s had his share of patching himself up, so he should know what he’s doing. She saw him grab a pair of medical clamps out of the case, and that should do the trick. 

“You want something to bite down on?” It’s a tempting offer, but she doesn’t want to waste time looking for something. Besides, she can handle a few minutes of pain. 

“Nope. I just want this over with. Come on, Frank. Don’t leave me like this.” She puts a little bit of a whine into her voice, and it does the trick because Frank’s hand tightens around the top of her shoulder.

She’s just about to ask what’s taking him so long when she feels the clamps digging into her skin, and she bites down on her bottom lip hard enough to break skin as the clamps push past skin and muscle. Blood coats her tongue and drips down her chin as Frank works, and she clenches her eyes shut as the first tears start to fall. It doesn’t stop the tears from coming, but at least this way she doesn’t have to see herself in the mirror. Frank gets the main bulk of the bullet out first, but she doesn’t let her body relax until he’s pulled out the last fragment. After that, she finally lets herself slump a little and lets her head hang down limply. 

“Almost done, princess.” Frank’s voice is a quiet rumble over her right shoulder, and he places the bloody clamps into the sink before picking up the washcloth. He turns the water on and gets the cloth wet again, and she looks down at all of her blood decorating the sink as he starts to wash off the fresh blood. 

“How’s it looking?” she asks as the cloth moves over her skin. The feeling of relief is already flooding her now that the bullet is out, and her shoulder blade has that itchy feeling that she associates with her healing. 

“Not even a mark.” Frank presses the cloth against the spot where she’d just been opened up, and a quiet groan slips out of her. She might be healed, but there’s still that lingering ache. 

The cloth leaves her skin, and Dani pushes up off of the sink and slowly turns around. She’s about to thank him for helping her out, but his dark eyes narrow down at her face. She expects him to launch into his lecture right then and there, but he steps into her space instead and then reaches around her to turn the sink on again. Dani freezes as the front of his body presses against hers, even though he’s still wearing a shirt and a bulletproof vest under that, because it’s been decades since she was so exposed in front of someone. She didn’t think about that while he was digging a bullet out of her back, but it’s hard to ignore now. Before she can start freaking out though, he straightens up and takes a half step back. 

“You’re a mess,” he says distractedly as one hand cups her jaw. He tilts her face up as he raises the washcloth again, and she holds still as he starts to clean her chin. She completely forgot that she bit through her bottom lip. The cuts from her teeth have already healed, but she probably looks disgusting with blood streaked down her chin. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles as Frank starts cleaning off her neck. If it was anyone else doing this for her, she’d probably feel uncomfortable. She’s only in her shorts and a bra (white so it’s going to have to be thrown out too), but she doesn’t have to worry about being exposed in front of Frank. She can _feel_ him, and his primary emotions at the moment are annoyance and concern. 

Once she’s all cleaned up, she steps to the side and lets Frank step up to the sink without her standing in the way. She watches as he rinses out the washcloth as best as he can, and she thinks they might be able to salvage it. It’s dark gray, so maybe all of the blood won’t stain it too much. When he’s satisfied with the cloth, he wrings it out and drapes it over the edge of the sink so he can start cleaning the clamps. First with water and then with a bottle of alcohol that he pulls out of the first-aid kit. They’re so close together in the small bathroom that picking up his emotions is easy, is natural, so she notices the flash of discomfort when he bends over to reach into the case. His expression never changes, but he just felt pain. 

Physical pain manifests emotionally in several different ways. Some people feel pure anguish when they’re hurt physically, a few select people get angry, others have a drop in emotion that reminds her of depression, and sometimes people just feel discomfort. She’s never really felt anyone push that emotion aside though. The discomfort fades under a wave of determination, but Dani knows what she felt. So she eyes Frank’s torso as he continues to clean. There aren’t any marks on his back, she made sure of that, but she can see some holes in the front of his tee shirt. She knew that he got shot a few times, but he hadn’t moved like he was seriously injured so she hadn’t worried about it. Maybe she should worry just a little though. 

“Alright, your turn.” The clamps are back in the case, and Frank just looks at her like she’s crazy. “I know how bulletproof vests work. You might not have actually been shot, but there might still be some damage. So let’s have a look-see.”

“I’m fine,” Frank says after a moment. She believes that he believes that, but she’s not going to stop being worried until she can see that he’s okay with her own two eyes. 

“Don’t get shy on me. Take it off,” she says and waves her hands for extra emphasis. Frank’s eyes lock with hers, and Dani crosses her arms as they start the staring contest. She knows she probably looks ridiculous, in her shorts and bra with her arms crossed and chin raised, but she’s not backing down. After several silent moments, Frank blows out a heavy sigh and then looks down to grab the bottom of his shirt. 

Dani keeps an eye on his face as he pulls the shirt off, to look for any brief glimpses of pain, but his face remains blank. His emotions stay steady as well, but there’s more annoyance than anything else now. It takes him a minute to unstrap the vest and then pull it off, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth as she looks him over. The quick intake of air isn’t because Frank has a very aesthetically pleasing upper body (even though he really does and it would probably be distracting under different circumstances), but because his stomach is mottled with bruises. Old ones and newly forming ones. 

“Jesus, Frank,” she says quietly and takes a step towards him. She can see the larger muscles in his body tensing as she gets closer, but he doesn’t move away or say anything. This time it’s her turn to lean around him and wet the washcloth, and she glances up at his face once she’s standing up straight again. 

There’s a spot on the right side of Frank’s stomach, right above the line of his iliac furrow, that’s bleeding. It’s not a deep cut, doesn’t need stitches or anything like that, but it looks even worse surrounded by all of the bruises. Frank briefly looks at the spot before meeting her eyes, and he nods once in permission. That’s all she was waiting for. She forces her hand to remain steady as she starts to clean off the blood that’s run down his skin, but she doesn’t go any lower than the line of his jeans. She just cleans what she can and wills herself not to cry as she takes in the sight of Frank’s bare body. She saw him the night, morning?, that he woke her up. He’d been shirtless then too, but she hadn’t _really_ looked. Even while jokingly trailing her eyes over him, she’d tried not to notice any details. It helped that it’d been dark in the living room. 

Now? Now she can see the sickly yellow color of faded bruises and the blooming red of forming bruises. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be black and blue. He has the body of a fighter, muscles honed from actual fighting and not from just hanging out at the gym, but she hates seeing the damage. Because under the bruises? There’s freshly knotted scar tissue and shiny smooth areas of old scars, and it’s like she can read some of the hell he’s been through on his skin. So by the time she finishes cleaning the blood off, her hand is shaking just a little as her own emotions overwhelm her. 

He doesn’t say anything as she grabs the bottle of alcohol and a gauze square, and she’s thankful for that because she wants to help him. Cleaning him up and doing a little patchwork isn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but she can feel her emotions choking her. The pressure lessens a little as she swipes the split skin with the alcohol soaked gauze, but she still _feels_. Anger at the people who have hurt him, sorrow for the man he used to be, fierce protectiveness…because Frank means something to her. No one has meant anything to her in a very long time, but Frank is special. He helps her to _feel_ , and it’s obvious that he needs someone in his corner. If he carries on the way he did in Hell’s Kitchen, he’ll be dead in under a month.

The thought of Frank dying, of that muted fury that she’s come to associate as _Frank_ just ceasing to be, makes her own anger rise. Maybe Frank isn’t a good person, that’s not really for her to judge, but she thinks the world will feel different without him in it. Will feel wrong. That might be a selfish thought, since being around him is the only thing that makes her feel human, but knowing that she’s being selfish doesn’t stop her from feeling anger just at the thought of Frank not being in this world. It’s those thoughts, and the strong pull of her own emotions, that causes her to speak. 

“I know you don’t want anyone getting hurt for you and that you’re probably mad that I stepped in and got myself shot up, but I’m not going to apologize. The simple truth is that I can heal, and you can’t,” she says as she swipes the gauze over him one last time. 

“I’m not gonna use you as some kind of human shield.” Frank’s tone is rough, and she peeks up at him as she tosses the bloody gauze into the trash. 

“No, you’d never ask me to do something like that. That’s not who you are.” He looks away from her eyes at that, like he can’t handle hearing that there’s any kind of goodness in him, and Dani locates a box of bandages in the first-aid case. “You’re not asking, and I’m not offering. I’m telling you that I’ll take the bullets that can kill you, because they won’t kill me. I know it probably sounds crazy to you, but you have no idea what you’ve done for me. No idea, Frank.”

Her fingers are shaking as she presses the bandage against his skin, and she stops with her fingertips pressing against the sides of the bandage. Some of her skin is touching against his, which is something that she can’t do with anyone else. Everyone else she’s touched, it’s hurt even more than having a bullet embedded in bone. The fear and anger she feels at the thought of losing Frank, even that seems like a miracle after not feeling anything for years. She’ll take all the cons of this arrangement as long as she gets to have the pros too. 

“I don’t like it,” he finally says. His hands come up to curl around her wrists, and she looks up as he pulls her hands away. He’s not angry that she’d been touching him, and she knows that because he doesn’t let go of her wrists. He keeps holding onto her as she looks up at him. 

“I’m not asking you to like it. I’m just asking you to…to.” She trails off as she thinks it over, and Frank twists his hands until he can actually hold her hands instead of just grabbing her wrists. It’s not a proper handholding, their fingers aren’t laced or anything like that, but his fingers are wrapped completely around her hands. 

“Come on now, girl. Spit it out,” he says as she chews the inside of her bottom lip. Her weight shifts to a different foot as she looks up at him, and he looks tired. There’s still fading bruises on his cheeks and across his jaw, there’s smudges under his eyes, but his eyes look…soft. He’s willing to hear her out, and she doesn’t think she’ll be hearing a lecture from him tonight. 

“Rule number four, we take care of each other.” Because that’s what everything boils down to. If this partnership of theirs continues, that’s what she wants. Frank takes care of her by being near her, and he also makes sure that she remembers to eat and drink. So she can take care of him by getting shot every now and then. 

The silence drags on as they just look at each other, and Dani _feels_ Frank as he thinks it over. The annoyance has died down a little, but there’s still the scratchy sensation of concern and the kind of worry that makes it feel like there’s a tight band around her chest. Frank kills people that deserve to die, and he doesn’t want to see someone that he considers an innocent hurt. Even though he’s seen that she’ll be just fine. Instead of trying to further argue her point though, Dani keeps quiet and lets him work through it. His hands tighten around hers as he takes in a slightly deeper breath, and Dani holds still as his eyes bore into hers. 

“We take care of each other,” he quietly repeats. The answer makes her smile, wide and completely unrestrained, and he rolls his eyes with a quiet huff. “Go get changed in the bedroom. I’ll clean up in here.”

“You got it, boss.”

She gets a look at Frank’s back as she leaves the bathroom, takes note of the bruises and scars, and then steps out of the bathroom. She already knew that Frank had lived a hard life, that he’d lived through things that most people hadn’t, but seeing him like that? Seeing just a little bit of him exposed? She’s already decided that she’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive. She can’t bring him peace or happiness or anything even remotely close to either of those, but that doesn’t mean she can’t help him. And she’s going to help him for as long as he lets her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little longer than usual, but I couldn’t find a good stopping place. Writing this chapter was…it was somehow both easy and difficult. Because after watching _The Punisher Series_ , I just wanted Frank to have a hug and a good night’s sleep. And the more I write, the more I love Dani because all she wants is to feel human and to help Frank. (Which Frank needs.) I hate having either of them hurt, but writing their interactions is getting easier for me. 
> 
> I’d love to know what you thought though! I’m always up for hearing thoughts on Frank’s characterization, how him and Dani interact with each other, or anything else that you want to address.


End file.
